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OF  THE 

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OF 


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^jiu/  ^Myl'n£jy,Atul€/yemJAi^  y'-mc^  AeAy^%4£^  oTa^ylAi.^^J^iamM€A/. 


THE 


FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 


TO    WHICH    IS    ADDED 


A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

BY 

CHARLES  LEVEE. 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  E.  J.  WHEELER 
AND  W.  CUBITT  COOKE 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 

^L^FOR^i^ 


BOSTON: 

LITTLE,   BROWN,   AND  COMPANY. 

1904. 


Copyright,  1894, 
By  Little,  Bkown,  and  Company. 


Sanibersttg  Press: 

John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.  S.  A. 


PREFACE. 


I  AM  unwilling  to  suffer  this  tale  to  leave  my  hands 
without  a  word  of  explanation  to  my  reader.  If  I  have 
never  disguised  from  myself  the  grounds  of  any  humble 
success  I  have  attained  to  as  a  writer  of  fiction;  if  I 
have  always  had  before  me  the  fact  that  to  movement 
and  action,  the  stir  of  incident,  and  a  certain  light- 
heartedness  and  gayety  of  temperament,  more  easy  to 
impart  to  others  than  to  repress  in  one's  self,  I  have 
owed  much,  if  not  all,  of  whatever  popularity  I  have 
enjoyed,  —  I  have  yet  felt,  or  fancied  that  I  felt,  that  it 
would  be  in  the  delineation  of  very  different  scenes, 
and  the  portraiture  of  very  different  emotions,  that  I 
should  reap  what  I  would  reckon  as  a  real  success. 
This  conviction,  or  impression  if  you  will,  has  become 
stronger  with  years  and  with  the  knowledge  of  life; 
years  have  imparted,  and  time  has  but  confirmed  me  in, 
the  notion  that  any  skill  I  possess  lies  in  the  detection 
of  character,  and  the  unravelment  of  that  tangled  skein 
which  makes  up  human  motives. 

I  am  well  aware  that  no  error  is  more  common  than 
to  mistake  one's  own  powers ;  nor  does  an3rthing  more 
contribute  to  this  error  than  a  sense  of  self-depreciation 
for  what  the  world  has  been  pleased  to  deem  successful 
in  us.  To  test  my  conviction,  or  to  abandon  it  as  a 
delusion  forever,  I  have  written  the  present  story  of 
"  Glencore." 

193061 


IV  PREFACE. 

I  make  but  little  pretension  to  the  claim  of  interest- 
ing; as  little  do  I  aspire  to  the  higher  credit  of  in- 
structing. All  I  have  attempted  —  all  I  have  striven 
to  accomplish  —  is  the  faithful  portraiture  of  character, 
the  close  analysis  of  motives,  and  correct  observation  as 
to  some  of  the  manners  and  modes  of  thought  which 
mark  the  age  we  live  in. 

Opportunities  of  society  as  well  as  natural  inclination 
have  alike  disposed  me  to  such  studies.  I  have  stood 
over  the  game  of  life  very  patiently  for  many  a  year, 
and  though  I  may  have  grieved  over  the  narrow  fort- 
une which  has  prevented  me  from  "  cutting  in,"  I  have 
consoled  myself  by  the  thought  of  all  the  anxieties  de- 
feat might  have  cost  me,  all  the  chagrin  I  had  suffered 
were  I  to  have  risen  a  loser.  Besides  this,  I  have 
learned  to  know  and  estimate  what  are  the  qualities 
which  win  success  in  life,  and  what  the  gifts  by  which 
men  dominate  above  their  fellows. 

If  in  the  world  of  well-bred  life  the  incidents  and 
events  be  fewer,  because  the  friction  is  less  than  in  the 
classes  where  vicissitudes  of  fortune  are  more  frequent, 
the  play  of  passion,  the  moods  of  temper,  and  the 
changeful  varieties  of  nature  are  often  very  strongly 
developed,  shadowed  and  screened  though  they  be  by 
the  polished  conventionalities  of  society.  To  trace  and 
mark  these  has  long  constituted  one  of  the  pleasures  of 
my  life ;  if  I  have  been  able  to  impart  even  a  portion  of 
that  gratification  to  my  reader,  I  will  not  deem  the 
effort  in  vain,  nor  the  "  Fortunes  of  Glencore  "  a 
failure. 

Let  me  add  that  although  certain  traits  of  character 
in  some  of  the  individuals  of  my  story  may  seem  to 
indicate  sketches  of  real  personages,  there  is  but  one 
character  in  the  whole  book  drawn  entirely  from  life. 


PREFACE.  V 

This  is  Billy  Traynor.  Not  only  have  I  had  a  sitter  for 
this  picture,  but  he  is  alive  and  hearty  at  the  hour  I  am 
writing.  For  the  others,  thev  are  purely,  entirely  ficti- 
tious. Certain  details,  certain  characteristics,  I  have  of 
course  borrowed,  —  as  he  who  would  mould  a  human 
face  must  needs  have  copied  an  eye,  a  nose,  or  a  chin 
from  some  existent  model ;  but  beyond  this  I  have  not 
gone,  nor,  indeed,  have  I  found,  in  all  my  experience  of 
life,  that  fiction  ever  suggests  what  has  not  been  im- 
planted unconsciously  by  memory;  originality  in  the 
delineation  of  character  being  little  beyond  a  new  com- 
bination of  old  materials  derived  from  that  source. 

I  wish  I  could  as  easily  apologize  for  the  faults  and 
blemishes  of  my  story  as  I  can  detect  and  deplore  them ; 
but,  like  the  failings  in  one's  nature,  they  are  very  often 
difficult  to  correct,  even  when  acknowledged.  I  have, 
therefore,  but  to  throw  myself  once  more  upon  the  in- 
dulgence which,  "  old  offender  "  that  I  am,  has  never 
forsaken  me,  and  subscribe  myself. 

Your  devoted  friend  and  servant, 

C.  L. 


CONTENTS. 


Chapteb  Pagb 

I.  A  Lonely  Landscape       1 

n.   Glencore  Castle 12 

IIL  Billy  Traynor  —  Poet,  Pedlar,  and  Physician  18 

rV.   A  Visitor 25 

V.   Colonel  Harcourt*8  Letter 34 

VL   Queer  Companionship 39 

VII.   A  Great  Diplomatist 47 

VIII.   The  Great  Man's  Arrival 62 

IX.   A  Medical  Visit 61 

X.   A  Disclosure 69 

^       XI.  Some  Lights  and  Shadows  of  Diplomatic  Life  79 

'■    XII.   A  Night  at  Sea 94 

XIII.  A  "Vow"  Accomplished 104 

XTV.  Billy  Traynor  and  the  Colonel 112 

XV.   A  Sick  Bed 117 

XVI.   The  "Project" 121 

XVII.    A  Tete-X-Tete 130 

XVIII.   Billy  Traynor  as  Orator 135 

XIX.   The  Cascine  at  Florence 142 

XX.   The  Villa  Fossombroni 151 

XXI.   Some  Traits  op  Life 159 

XXII.  An  Uptonian  Despatch 165 

XXIIL   The  Tutor  and  his  Pupil 170 

XXIV.   How  A  "Reception"  comes  to  its  Close    .    .  177 

XXV.   A  Duke  and  his  Minister 187 

XXVI.  Italian  Troubles 197 

XXVII.   Carrara .' 203 


VI 11  CONTENTS. 

Chapter  Paqx 

XXVIII.   A  Night  Scene 209 

XXIX.   A  Council  of  State 217 

XXX.   The  Life  they  led  at  Mass  a 223 

XXXI.    At  Massa 229 

XXXII.   The  Pavilion  in  the  Garden 236 

XXXIII.  Night  Thoughts 242 

XXXIV.  A  Minister's  Letter .  249 

XXXV.  Harcourt's  Lodgings 254 

XXXVL   A  Fevered  Mind 266 

XXXVIL   The  Villa  at  Sorrento 274 

XXXVIII.   A  Diplomatist's  Dinner 284 

XXXIX.   A  VERY  Broken  Narrative 295 

XL.   Uptonism 306 

XLI.   An  Evening  in  Florence 313 

XLII.   Madame  de  Sabloukoff  in  the  Morning  .  325 

XLin.   Doings  in  Downing  Street 335 

XLIV.   The  Subtleties  of  Statecraft      ....  343 

XLV.   Some  Sad  Reveries 355 

XLVI.   The  Flood  in  the  Magra 364 

XLVII.   A  Fragment  of  a  Letter 374 

XL VIII.   How  A  Sovereign  treats  with  his  Minister  380 

XLIX.   Social  Diplomacies 387 

L.   Ante-dinner  Reflections 396 

LI.   Conflicting  Thoughts 401 

LTI.  Major  Scaresby's  Visit 411 

LIII.  A  Mask  in  Carnival  Time 419 

LIV.   The  End 434 


A  RENT   IN  A  CLOUD. 

I.    The  White  Horse  at  Coblentz     ....  441 

11.    The  Passengers  on  the  Steamboat  .     .     .  448 

III.  Fellow-Travellers'  Life 456 

IV.  The  "Lago  d'  Orta" 461 

V.   Old  Memories 467 

VI.    Sophy's  Letter 473 


CONTENTS.  IX 

Chapteb  Pagk 

VII.   Dissension 479 

VIII.    Growing  Darker 493 

IX.   On  the  Road 505 

X.    A  Daybreak  beside  the  Rhine 517 

XI.   The  Life  at  the  Villa 523 

XII.    Darker  and  Darker 544 

XIII.  Again  to  Milan 553 

XIV.  The  Last  Walk  in  the  Garden 558 

XV.   Sisters'  Confidences 570 

XVI.    A  Lovers*  Quarrel 575 

XVII.   Parting  Sorrows 586 

XVIII.    Tidings  from  Bengal 593 

XIX.   A  Shock 599 

XX.   Again  at  Orta 602 

XXL    The  Return 610 

XXII.    A  Letter  of  Confessions 616 

XXIIL  a  Storm 621 

XXIV.   The  Last  and  the  Shortest 632 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

ORIGINAL  DESIGNS  BY  E.  J.  WHEELER. 
Photo-enoraved  by  Walter  L.  Cotts. 

Page 
«  She  turned  suddenly  and  fixed  her  eyes   on  the 

stranger" Frontispiece 

**  *  He  's  alive  ;  he  's  well  ;  it  's  only  fatigue  ' "  .     .     .     103 

"  The  youth  stood  regardless  of  their  comments  "     .     215 

**  He   sprang  at    the    other  with  the  bound  of    a 

tiger" 370 

A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 
Under  a  Large  Drooping  Ash 441 


THE 

FORTUNES   OF    GLENCORE. 


^       CHAPTER  I. 

A    LONELY   LANDSCAPE. 

Where  that  singularly  beautiful  inlet  of  the  sea  known  in 
the  west  of  Ireland  as  the  Killeries,  after  narrowing  to  a 
mere  strait,  expands  into  a  bay,  stands  the  ruin  of  the 
ancient  Castle  of  Glencore.  With  the  bold  steep  sides  of 
Ben  Creggan  behind,  and  the  broad  blue  Atlantic  in  front, 
the  proud  keep  would  seem  to  have  occupied  a  spot  that 
might  have  bid  defiance  to  the  boldest  assailant.  The 
estuary  itself  here  seems  entirely  landlocked,  and  resembles, 
in  the  wild,  fantastic  outline  of  the  mountains  around,  a 
Norwegian  fiord,  rather  than  a  scene  in  our  own  tamer  land- 
scape. The  small  village  of  Leenane,  which  stands  on  the 
Galway  shore,  opposite  to  Glencore,  presents  the  only  trace 
of  habitation  in  this  wild  and  desolate  district,  for  the  coun- 
try around  is  poor,  and  its  soil  offers  little  to  repay  the  task 
of  the  husbandman.  Fishing  is  then  the  chief,  if  not  the 
sole,  resource  of  those  who  pass  their  lives  in  this  solitary 
region ;  and  thus  in  every  little  creek  or  inlet  of  the  shore 
may  be  seen  the  stout  craft  of  some  hardy  venturer,  and 
nets,  and  tackle,  and  such-like  gear,  lie  drying  on  every 
rocky  eminence.  We  have  said  that  Glencore  was  a  ruin ; 
but  still  its  vast  proportions,  yet  traceable  in  massive  frag- 
ments of  masonry,  displayed  specimens  of  various  eras  of 
architecture,  from  the  rudest  tower  of  the  twelfth  century  to 
the  more  ornate  style  of  a  later  period ;  while  artificial  em- 
bankments and  sloped  sides  of  grass  showed  the  remains  of 

1 


2  THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

what  once  had  been  terrace  and  ''  parterre,' 
it  might  be  presumed,  of  fosse  and  parapet.  Many  a  tale  of 
cruelty  and  oppression,  many  a  story  of  suffering  and  sorrow, 
clung  to  those  old  walls,  for  they  had  formed  the  home  of  a 
haughty  and  a  cruel  race,  the  last  descendant  of  which  died 
at  the  close  of  the  past  century.  The  Castle  of  Glencore, 
with  the  title,  had  now  descended  to  a  distant  relation  of  the 
house,  who  had  repaired  and  so  far  restored  th«  old  residence 
as  to  make  it  habitable,  —  that  is  to  say,  four  bleak  and  lofty 
chambers  were  rudely  furnished,  and  about  as  many  smaller 
ones  fitted  for  servant  accommodation ;  but  no  effort  at  em- 
bellishment, not  even  the  commonest  attempt  at  neatness, 
was  bestowed  on  the  grounds  or  the  garden;  and  in  this 
state  it  remained  for  some  five-and-twenty  or  thirty  years, 
when  the  tidings  reached  the  little  village  of  Leenane  that 
his  lordship  was  about  to  return  to  Glencore,  and  fix  his 
residence  there. 

Such  an  event  was  of  no  small  moment  in  such  a  locality, 
and  many  were  the  speculations  as  to  what  might  be  the 
consequence  of  his  coming.  Little,  or  indeed  nothing,  was 
known  of  Lord  Glencore ;  his  only  visit  to  the  neighborhood 
had  occurred  many  years  before,  and  lasted  but  for  a  day. 
He  had  arrived  suddenly,  and,  taking  a  boat  at  the  ferry,  as 
it  was  called,  crossed  over  to  the  Castle,  whence  he  returned 
at  nightfall,  to  depart  as  hurriedly  as  he  came. 

Of  those  who  had  seen  him  in  this  brief  visit  the  accounts 
were  vague  and  most  contradictory.  Some  called  him  hand- 
some and  well  built;  others  said  he  was  a  dark-looking, 
downcast  man,  with  a  sickly  and  forbidding  aspect.  None, 
however,  could  record  one  single  word  he  had  spoken,  nor 
could  even  gossips  pretend  to  say  that  he  gave  utterance 
to  any  opinion  about  the  place  or  the  people.  The  mode  in 
which  the  estate  was  managed  gave  as  little  insight  into  the 
character  of  the  proprietor.  If  no  severity  was  displayed 
to  the  few  tenants  on  the  property,  there  was  no  encourage- 
ment given  to  their  efforts  at  improvement ;  a  kind  of  cold 
neglect  was  the  only  feature  discernible,  and  many  went  so 
far  as  to  say  that  if  any  cared  to  forget  the  payment  of  his 
rent,  the  chances  were  it  might  never  be  demanded  of  him ; 
the  great  security  against  such  a  venture,  however,  lay  in 


A  LONELY  LANDSCAPE.  3 

the  fact  that  the  land  was  held  at  a  mere  nominal  rental,  and 
few  would  have  risked  his  tenure  by  such  an  experiment. 

It  was  little  to  be  wondered  at  that  Lord  Glencore  was 
not  better  known  in  that  secluded  spot,  since  even  in  Eng- 
land his  name  was  scarcely  heard  of.  His  fortune  was  very 
limited,  and  he  had  no  political  influence  whatever,  not  pos- 
sessing a  seat  in  the  Upper  House ;  so  that,  as  he  spent  his 
life  abroad,  he  was  almost  totally  forgotten  in  his  own 
country. 

All  that  Debrett  could  tell  of  him  was  comprised  in  a 
few  lines,  recording  simply  that  he  was  sixth  Viscount 
Glencore  and  Loughdooner ;  born  in  the  month  of  February, 
180-,  and  married  in  August,  18 — ,  to  Clarissa  Isabella, 
second  daughter  of  Sir  Guy  Clifford,  of  Wytchley,  Baronet ; 
by  whom  he  had  issue,  Charles  Conyngham  Massey,  born 
6th  June,  18 —  .     There  closed  the  notice. 

Strange  and  quaint  things  are  these  short  biographies, 
with  little  beyond  the  barren  fact  that  ''  he  had  lived"  and 
"  he  had  died ;  "  and  yet,  with  all  the  changes  of  this  work- 
a-day  world,  with  its  din,  and  turmoil,  and  gold-seeking, 
and  "progress,"  men  cannot  divest  themselves  of  rever- 
ence for  birth  and  blood,  and  the  veneration  for  high  descent 
remains  an  instinct  of  humanity.  Sneer  as  men  will  at 
"  heaven-born  legislators,"  laugh  as  you  may  at  the  "  tenth 
transmitter  of  a  foolish  face,"  there  is  something  eminently 
impressive  in  the  fact  of  a  position  acquired  by  deeds  that 
date  back  to  centuries,  and  preserved  inviolate  to  the  suc- 
cessor of  him  who  fought  at  Agincourt  or  at  Cressy.  If 
ever  this  religion  shall  be  impaired,  the  fault  be  with  those 
who  have  derogated  from  their  great  prerogative,  and  for- 
gotten to  make  illustrious  by  example  what  they  have  in- 
herited illustrious  by  descent. 

When  the  news  first  reached  the  neighborhood  that  a 
lord  was  about  to  take  up  his  residence  in  the  Castle,  the 
most  extravagant  expectations  were  conceived  of  the  benefits 
to  arise  from  such  a  source.  The  very  humblest  already 
speculated  on  the  advantages  his  wealth  was  to  diffuse,  and 
the  thousand  little  channels  into  which  his  aflfluence  would  be 
directed.  The  ancient  traditions  of  the  place  spoke  of  a 
time  of  boundless  profusion,  when  troops  of  mounted  fol- 


4  THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

lowers  used  to  accompany  the  old  barons,  and  when  the 
lough  itself  used  to  be  covered  with  boats,  with  the  armorial 
bearings  of  Glencore  floating  proudly  from  their  mastheads. 
There  were  old  men  then  living  who  remembered  as  many  as 
two  hundred  laborers  being  daily  employed  on  the  grounds 
and  gardens  of  the  Castle ;  and  the  most  fabulous  stories 
were  told  of  fortunes  accumulated  by  those  who  were  lucky 
enough  to  have  saved  the  rich  earnings  of  that  golden 
period. 

Colored  as  such  speculations  were  with  all  the  imagina- 
tive warmth  of  the  west,  it  was  a  terrible  shock  to  such 
sanguine  fancies  when  they  beheld  a  middle-aged,  sad-look- 
ing man  arrive  in  a  simple  postchaise,  accompanied  by  his 
son,  a  child  of  six  or  seven  years  of  age,  and  a  single  ser- 
vant, —  a  grim-looking  old  dragoon  corporal,  who  neither 
invited  intimacy  nor  rewarded  it.  It  was  not,  indeed,  for 
a  long  time  that  they  could  believe  that  this  was  ''  my  lord," 
and  that  this  solitary  attendant  was  the  whole  of  that  great 
retinue  they  had  so  long  been  expecting ;  nor,  indeed,  could 
any  evidence  less  strong  than  Mrs.  Mulcahy's,  of  the  Post- 
office,  completely  satisfy  them  on  the  subject.  The  address 
of  certain  letters  and  newspapers  to  the  Lord  Viscount  Glen- 
core was,  however,  a  testimony  beyond  dispute;  so  that 
nothing  remained  but  to  revenge  themselves  on  the  uncon- 
scious author  of  their  self-deception  for  the  disappointment 
he  gave  them.  This,  it  is  true,  required  some  ingenuity,  for 
they  scarcely  ever  saw  him,  nor  could  they  ascertain  a  single 
fact  of  his  habits  or  mode  of  life. 

He  never  crossed  the  "  Lough,"  as  the  inlet  of  the  sea, 
about  three  miles  in  width,  was  called.  He  as  rigidly  ex- 
cluded the  peasantry  from  the  grounds  of  the  Castle ;  and, 
save  an  old  fisherman,  who  carried  his  letter-bag  to  and  fro, 
and  a  few  laborers  in  the  spring  and  autumn,  none  ever  in- 
vaded the  forbidden  precincts. 

Of  course,  such  privacy  paid  its  accustomed  penalty ;  and 
many  an  explanation,  of  a  kind  little  flattering,  was  circulated 
to  account  for  so  ungenial  an  existence.  Some  alleged  that 
he  had  committed  some  heavy  crime  against  the  State,  and 
was  permitted  to  pass  his  life  there,  on  the  condition  of  per- 
petual imprisonment ;  others,  that  his  wife  had  deserted  him, 


A  LONELY  LANDSCAPE.  5 

and  that  in  his  forlorn  condition  he  had  sought  out  a  spot  to 
live  and  die  in,  unnoticed  and  unknown ;  a  few  ascribed  his 
solitude  to  debt;  while  others  were  divided  in  opinion  be- 
tween charges  of  misanthropy  and  avarice,  —  to  either  of 
which  accusations  his  lonely  and  simple  life  fully  exposed 
him. 

In  time,  however,  peox)le  grew  tired  of  repeating  stories  to 
which  no  new  evidence  added  any  features  of  interest.  They 
lost  the  zest  for  a  scandal  which  ceased  to  astonish,  and 
"  my  lord"  was  as  much  forgotten,  and  his  existence  as  un- 
spoken of,  as  though  the  old  towers  had  once  again  become 
the  home  of  the  owl  and  the  jackdaw. 

It  was  now  about  eight  years  since  "  the  lord  "  had  taken 
up  his  abode  at  the  Castle,  when  one  evening,  a  raw  and 
gusty  night  of  December,  the  little  skiff  of  the  fisherman  was 
seen  standing  in  for  shore,  — a  sight  somewhat  uncommon, 
since  she  always  crossed  the  ''Lough"  in  time  for  the 
morning's  mail. 

"There's  another  man  aboard,  too,"  said  a  bystander 
from  the  little  group  that  watched  the  boat,  as  she  neared 
the  harbor;   "  I  think  it's  Mr.  Craggs." 

"You 're  right  enough,  Sam,  —  it 's  the  Corporal ;  I  know 
his  cap,  and  the  short  tail  of  hair  he  wears  under  it.  What 
can  bring  him  at  this  time  of  night?" 

"  He 's  going  to  bespeak  a  quarter  of  Tim  Healey's  beef, 
maybe,"  said  one,  with  a  grin  of  malicious  drollery. 

"Mayhap  it's  askin'  us  all  to  spend  the  Christmas  he'd 
be,"  said  another. 

"Whisht!  or  he  '11  hear  you,"  muttered  a  third;  and  at 
the  same  instant  the  sail  came  clattering  down,  and  the  boat 
glided  swiftly  past,  and  entered  a  little  natural  creek  close 
beneath  where  they  stood. 

"Who  has  got  a  horse  and  a  jaunting-car?"  cried  the 
Corporal,  as  he  jumped  on  shore.  "  I  want  one  for  Clifden 
directly." 

"  It 's  fifteen  miles  —  devil  a  less,"  cried  one. 

"Fifteen!  no,  but  eighteen!  Kiely's  bridge  is  bruck 
down,  and  you  '11  have  to  go  by  Gortnamuck." 

"  Well,  and  if  he  has,  can't  he  take  the  cut?  " 

"He  can't." 


6  THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

*'  Why  not?     Did  n't  I  go  that  way  last  week ?  " 

"  Well,  and  if  you  did,  did  n't  you  lame  your  baste?  " 

"  'T  was  n't  the  cut  did  it." 

''  It  was  —  sure  I  know  better  —  Billy  Moore  tould  me." 

"Billy's  a  liar!" 

Such  and  such-like  comments  and  contradictions  were 
very  rapidly  exchanged,  and  already  the  debate  was  waxing 
warm,  when  Mr.  Craggs's  authoritative  voice  interposed 
with  — 

''  Billy  Moore  be  blowed !  I  want  to  know  if  I  can  have 
a  car  and  horse?" 

"To  be  sure !  why  not?  —  who  says  you  can't? "  chimed 
in  a  chorus. 

"If  you  go  to  Clifden  under  five  hours  my  name  isn't 
Terry  Lynch,"  said  an  old  man  in  rabbitskin  breeches. 

"I'll  engage,  if  Barny  will  give  me  the  blind  mare,  to 
drive  him  there  under  four." 

"  Bother !  "  said  the  Rabbitskin,  in  a  tone  of  contempt. 

"  But  where  's  the  horse?  "  cried  the  Corporal. 

"  Ay,  that 's  it,"  said  another ;   "  where 's  the  horse?  " 

"Is  there  none  to  be  found  in  the  village?"  asked 
Craggs,  eagerly. 

"  Divil  a  horse,  barrin'  an  ass.  Barny's  mare  has  the 
staggers  the  last  fortnight,  and  Mrs.  Kyle's  pony  broke  his 
two  knees  on  Tuesday  carrying  sea- weed  up  the  rocks." 

"But  I  must  goto  Clifden;  I  must  be  there  to-night," 
said  Craggs. 

"It's  on  foot,  then,  you'll  have  to  do  it,"  said  the 
Rabbitskin. 

"Lord  Glencore's  dangerously  ill,  and  needs  a  doctor," 
said  the  Corporal,  bursting  out  with  a  piece  of  most  uncom- 
mon communicativeness.  "Is  there  none  of  you  will  give 
his  horse  for  such  an  errand?" 

"Arrah,  musha! — it's  a  pity!"  and  such-like  expres- 
sions of  compassionate  import,  were  muttered  on  all  sides ; 
but  no  more  active  movement  seemed  to  flow  from  the  con- 
dolence, while  in  a  lower  tone  were  added  such  expressions 
as,  "  Sorra  mend  him  —  if  he  wasn't  a  naygar,  wouldn't  he 
have  a  horse  of  his  own  ?  It 's  a  droll  lord  he  is,  to  be  beg- 
ging the  loan  of  a  baste!" 


A  LONELY  LANDSCAPE.  7 

Something  like  a  malediction  arose  to  the  Corporal's  lips ; 
but  restraining  it,  and  with  a  voice  thick  from  passion,  he 
said,  — 

''I'm  ready  to  pay  you  —  to  pay  you  ten  times  over  the 
worth  of  your  —  " 

"You  needn't  curse  the  horse,  anyhow,"  interposed 
Rabbitskin,  while  with  a  significant  glance  at  his  friends 
around  him,  he  slyly  intimated  that  it  would  be  as  well  to 
adjourn  the  debate,  —  a  motion  as  quickly  obeyed  as  it  was 
mooted ;  for  in  less  than  five  minutes  Craggs  was  standing 
beside  the  quay,  with  no  other  companion  than  a  blind 
beggar-woman,  who,  perfectly  regardless  of  his  distress, 
continued  energetically  to  draw  attention  to  her  own. 

' '  A  little  fivepenny  bit,  my  lord  —  the  last  trifle  your 
honor's  glory  has  in  the  corner  of  your  pocket,  that  you  '11 
never  miss,  and  that  '11  sweeten  ould  Molly's  tay  to-night  ? 
There,  acushla,  have  pity  on  '  the  dark,'  and  that  you  may 
see  glory  —  " 

But"  Craggs  did  not  wait  for  the  remainder,  but,  deep  in 
his  own  thoughts,'  sauntered  down  towards  the  village. 
AlreadjT  had  the  others  retreated  within  their  homes ;  and 
now  all  was  dark  and  cheerless  along  the  little  straggling 
street. 

''And  this  is  a  Christian  country!  —  this  a  land  that 
people  tell  you  abounds  in  kindness  and  good-nature  !  "  said 
he,  in  an  accent  of  sarcastic  bitterness. 

"And  who'll  say  the  reverse?"  answered  a  voice  from 
behind,  and,  turning,  he  beheld  the  little  hunchbacked  fellow 
who  carried  the  mail  on  foot  from  Oughterard,  a  distance  of 
sixteen  miles,  over  a  mountain,  and  who  was  popularly 
known  as  "  Billy  the  Bag,"  from  the  little  leather  sack  which 
seemed  to  form  part  of  his  attire.  "  Who'll  stand  up  and 
tell  me  it 's  not  a  fine  country  in  every  sense,  —  for  natural 
beauties,  for  antiquities,  for  elegant  men  and  lovely  females, 
for  quarries  of  marble  and  mines  of  gould?  " 

Craggs  looked  contemptuously  at  the  figure  who  thus 
declaimed  of  Ireland's  wealth  and  grandeur,  and,  in  a  sneer- 
ing tone,  said,  — 

"And  with  such  riches  on  every  side,  why  do  you  go 
barefoot  —  why  are  you  in  rags,  my  old  fellow?" 


8  THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCOEE. 

*'  Is  n't  there  poor  everywhere?  If  the  world  was  all  gould 
and  silver,  what  would  be  the  precious  metals  —  tell  me 
that?  Is  it  because  there 's  a  little  cripple  like  myself  here, 
that  them  mountains  yonder  is  n't  of  copper  and  iron  and 
cobalt?  Come  over  with  me  after  I  lave  the  bags  at  the 
oflSce,  and  I'll  show  you  bits  of  every  one  I  speak  of." 

''  I  'd  rather  you'd  show  me  a  doctor,  my  worthy  fellow," 
said  Craggs,  sighing. 

'*I'm  the  nearest  thing  to  that  same  going,"  replied 
Billy.  "I  can  breathe  a  vein  against  anyj  man  in  the 
barony.  I  can't  say,  that  for  any  articular  congestion  of 
the  aortic  valves,  or  for  a  sero-pulmonic  diathesis  —  d'ye 
mind  ?  —  that  there  is  n't  as  good  as  me ;  but  for  the  ould 
school  of  physic,  the  humoral  diagnostic  touch,  who  can 
beat  me?" 

''  Will  you  come  with  me  across  the  lough,  and  see  my 
lord,  then  ?  "  said  Craggs,  who  was  glad  even  of  such  aid  in 
his  emergency. 

''  And  why  not,  when  I  lave  the  bags?  "  said  Billy,  touch- 
ing the  leather  sack  as  he  spoke. 

If  the  Corporal  was  not  without  his  misgivings  as  to  the 
skill  and  competence  of  his  companion,  there  was  something 
in  the  fluent  volubility  of  the  little  fellow  that  overawed  and 
impressed  him,  while  his  words  were  uttered  in  a  rich  mellow 
voice,  that  gave  them  a  sort  of  solemn  persuasiveness. 

"Were  you  always  on  the  road?"  asked  the  Corporal, 
curious  to  learn  some  particulars  of  his  history. 

"  No,  sir;  I  was  twenty  things  before  I  took  to  the  bags. 
I  was  a  poor  scholar  for  four  years  ;  I  kept  school  in  Erris ; 
I  was  '  on  '  the  ferry  in  Dublin  with  my  fiddle  for  eighteen 
months ;  and  I  was  a  bear  in  Liverpool  for  part  of  a 
winter." 

"  A  bear !  "  exclaimed  Craggs. 

"Yes,  sir.  It  was  an  Italian  —  one  Pipo  Chiassi  by 
name  —  that  lost  his  beast  at  Manchester,  and  persuaded 
me,  as  I  was  about  the  same  stature,  to  don  the  sable,  and 
perform  in  his  place.  After  that  I  took  to  writin'  for  the 
papers  — '  The  Skibbereen  Celt '  —  and  supported  myself  very 
well  till  it  broke.  But  here  we  are  at  the  office,  so  I  '11  step 
in,  and  get  my  fiddle,  too,  if  you  've  no  objection." 


A  LONELY  LANDSCAPE.  9 

The  Corporal's  meditations  scarcely  were  of  a  kind  to  re- 
assure him,  as  he  thought  over  the  versatile  character  of  his 
new  friend;  but  the  case  offered  no  alternative  —  it  was 
Billy  or  nothing  —  since  to  reach  Clif den  on  foot  would  be 
the  labor  of  many  hours,  and  in  the  interval  his  master 
should  be  left  utterly  alone.  While  he  was  thus  musing, 
Billy  reappeared,  with  a  violin  under  one  arm  and  a  much- 
worn  quarto  under  the  other. 

''This,"  said  he,  touching  the  volume,  "is  the  'Whole 
Art  and  Mystery  of  Physic,*  by  one  Fabricius,  of  Aqua- 
pendente ;  and  if  we  don't  find  a  cure  for  the  case  down 
here,  take  my  word  for  it,  it 's  among  the  morba  ignota,  as 
Paracelsus  says." 

"  Well,  come  along,"  said  Craggs,  impatiently,  and  set  off 
at  a  speed  that,  notwithstanding  Billy's  habits  of  foot-travel, 
kept  him  at  a  sharp  trot.  A  few  minutes  more  saw  them,  with 
canvas  spread,  skimming  across  the  lough,  towards  Glencore. 

"  Glencore  —  Glencore  !  "  muttered  Billy  once  or  twice  to 
himself,  as  the  swift  boat  bounded  through  the  hissing  surf. 
"Did  you  ever  hear  Lady  Lucy's  Lament?"  And  he 
struck  a  few  chords  with  his  fingers  as  he  sang :  — 

"  *  I  care  not  for  your  trellised  vine, 

I  love  the  dark  woods  on  the  shore, 
Nor  all  the  towers  along  the  Rhine 

Are  dear  to  me  as  old  Glencore. 
The  rugged  cliff,  Ben  Creggan  high, 

Re-echoing  the  Atlantic  roar, 
Are  mingling  with  the  seagull's  cry 

My  welcome  back  to  old  Glencore.* 

And  then  there's  a  chorus." 

"That's  a  signal  to  us  to  make  haste,"  said  the  Cor- 
poral, pointing  to  a  bright  flame  which  suddenly  shot  up  on 
the  shore  of  the  lough.  "Put  out  an  oar  to  leeward  there, 
and  keep  her  up  to  the  wind." 

And  Billy,  perceiving  his  minstrelsy  unattended  to,  con- 
soled himself  by  humming  over,  for  his  own  amusement,  the 
remainder  of  his  ballad. 

The  wind  freshened  as  the  night  grew  darker,  and  heavy 
seas  repeatedly  broke  on  the  bow,  and  swept  over  the  boat 
in  spray ey  showers. 


10         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"It's  that  confounded  song  of  yours  has  got  the  wind 
up,"  said  Craggs,  angrily;  "stand  by  the  sheet,  and  stop 
your  croning !  " 

"That's  an  error  vulgaris^  attributing  to  music  marine 
disasters,"  said  Billy,  calmly;  "it  arose  out  of  a  mistake 
about  one  Orpheus." 

"  Slack  off  there!  "  cried  Craggs,  as  a  squall  struck  the 
boat,  and  laid  her  almost  over. 

Billy,  however,  had  obeyed  the  mandate  promptly,  and 
she  soon  righted,  and  held  on  her  course. 

"  I  wish  they'd  show  the  light  again  on  shore,"  muttered 
the  Corporal;   "the  night  is  black  as  pitch." 

"  Keep  the  top  of  the  mountain  a  little  to  windward,  and 
you're  all  right,"  said  Billy.  "I  know  the  lough  well;  I 
used  to  come  here  all  hours,  day  and  night,  once,  spearing 
salmon." 

"And  smuggling,  too!  "  added  Craggs. 

"Yes,  sir;  brandy,  and  tay,  and  pigtail,  for  Mister 
Sheares,  in  Oughterard." 

"  What  became  of  him?"  asked  Craggs. 

"He  made  a  fortune  and  died,  and  his  son  mamed  a 
lady !  " 

"Here  comes  another;  throw  her  head  up  in  the  wind," 
cried  Craggs. 

This  time  the  order  came  too  late ;  for  the  squall  struck 
her  with  the  suddenness  of  a  shot,  and  she  canted  over  till 
her  keel  lay  out  of  water,  and,  when  she  righted,  it  was  with 
the  white  surf  boiling  over  her. 

"  She's  a  good  boat,  then,  to  stand  that,"  said  Billy,  as 
he  struck  a  light  for  his  pipe,  with  all  the  coolness  of  one 
perfectly  at  his  ease ;  and  Craggs,  from  that  very  moment, 
conceived  a  favorable  opinion  of  the  little  hunchback. 

"  Now  we  're  in  the  smooth  water.  Corporal,"  cried  Bill}^ ; 
"let  her  go  a  little  free." 

And,  obedient  to  the  advice,  he  ran  the  boat  swiftly 
along  till  she  entered  a  small  creek,  so  sheltered  by  the 
highlands  that  the  water  within  was  still  as  a  mountain 
tarn. 

"  You  never  made  the  passage  on  a  worse  night,  I'll  be 
bound,"  said  Craggs,  as  he  sprang  on  shore. 


A  LONELY  LANDSCAPE.  H 


u 


Indeed  and  I  did,  then,"  replied  Billy.  "I  remember 
—  it  was  two  days  before  Christmas  —  we  were  blown  out  to 
say  in  a  small  boat,  not  more  than  the  half  of  this,  and  we 
only  made  the  west  side  of  Arran  Island  after  thirty-six 
hours'  beating  and  tacking.  I  wrote  an  account  of  it  for 
the  '  Tyrawly  Regenerator,'  commencing  with  — 

' '  '  The  elemential  conflict  that  with  tremendious  violence 
raged,  ravaged,  and  ruined  the  adamantine  foundations  of 
our  western  coast,  on  Tuesday,  the  23rd  of  December  — '  " 

••'  Come  along,  come  along,"  said  Craggs ;  "we've  some- 
thing else  to  think  of." 

And  with  this  admonition,  very  curtly  bestowed,  he 
stepped  out  briskly  on  the  path  towards  Glencore. 


o 


CHAPTER  n. 

GLENCORE   CASTLE. 

When  the  Corporal,  followed  by  Billy,  entered  the  gloomy 
hall  of  the  Castle,  they  found  two  or  three  country  people 
conversing  in  a  low  but  eager  voice  together,  who  speedily 
turned  towards  them,  to  learn  if  the  doctor  had  come. 

*' Here's  all  I  could  get  in  the  way  of  a  doctor,"  said 
Craggs,  pushing  Billy  towards  them  as  he  spoke. 

''  Faix,  and  ye  might  have  got  worse,"  muttered  a  very 
old  man ;  "  Billy  Traynor  has  the  '  lucky  hand.'  " 

''How  is  my  lord,  now,  Nelly?"  asked  the  Corporal  of 
a  woman  who,  with  bare  feet,  and  dressed  in  the  humblest 
fashion  of  the*  peasantry,  appeared. 

"He's  getting  weaker  and  weaker,  sir;  I  believe  he's 
sinking.  I'm  glad  it's  Billy  is  come;  I'd  rather  see  him 
than  all  the  doctors  in  the  country." 

"  Follow  me,"  said  Craggs,  giving  a  signal  to  step  lightly ; 
'and  he  led  the  way  up  a  narrow  stone  stair,  with  a  wall  on 
either  hand.  Traversing  a  long,  low  corridor,  they  reached 
a  door,  at  which  having  waited  for  a  second  or  two  to  listen, 
Craggs  turned  the  handle  and  entered.  The  room  was  very 
large  and  lofty,  and,  seen  in  the  dim  light  of  a  small  lamp 
upon  the  hearthstone,  seemed  even  more  spacious  than  it 
was.  The  oaken  floor  was  uncarpeted,  and  a  very  few 
articles  of  furniture  occupied  the  walls.  In  one  corner 
stood  a  large  bed,  the  heavy  curtains  of  which  had  been 
gathered  up  on  the  roof,  the  better  to  admit  air  to  the  sick 
man. 

As  Billy  drew  nigh  with  cautious  steps,  he  perceived  that, 
although  worn  and  wasted  by  long  illness,  the  patient  was 
a  man  still  in  the  very  prime  of  life.  His  dark  hair  and 
beard,  which  he  wore  long,  were  untinged  with  gray,  and  his 
forehead  showed  no  touch  of  age.     His  dark  eyes  were  wide 


GLENCORE  CASTLE.  13 

open,  and  his  lips  slightly  parted,  his  whole  features  exhibit- 
ing an  expression  of  energetic  action,  even  to  wildness. 
Still  he  was  sleeping ;  and,  as  Craggs  whispered,  he  seldom 
slept  otherwise,  even  when  in  health.  With  all  the  quietness 
of  a  trained  practitioner,  Billy  took  down  the  watch  that  was 
pinned  to  the  curtain  and  proceeded  to  count  the  pulse. 

''A  hundred  and  thirty-eight,"  muttered  he,  as  he  fin- 
ished ;  and  then,  gently  displacing  the  bedclothes,  laid  his 
hand  upon  the   heart. 

With  a  long-drawn  sigh,  like  that  of  utter  weariness,  the 
sick  man  moved  his  head  round  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon 
him. 

''  The  doctor!  "  said  he,  in  a  deep-toned  but  feeble  voice. 
*'  Leave  me,  Craggs  —  leave  me  alone  with  him." 

And  the  Corporal  slowly  retired,  turning  as  he  went 
to  look  back  towards  the  bed,  and  evidently  going  with 
reluctance. 

"Is  it  fever?"  asked  the  sick  man,  in  a  faint  but  un- 
faltering accent. 

"It's  a  kind  of  cerebral  congestion,  —  a  matter  of  them 
membranes  that's  over  the  brain,  with,  of  course,  fehrilis 
generalise* 

The  accentuation  of  these  words,  marked  as  it  was  by 
the  strongest  provincialism  of  the  peasant,  attracted  the 
sick  man's  attention,  and  he  bent  upon  him  a  look  at  once 
searching  and  severe. 

"  What  are  you  —  who  are  you?  "  cried  he,  angrily. 

"  What  I  am  is  n't  so  aisy  to  say ;  but  who  I  am  is  clean 
beyond  me." 

"  Are  you  a  doctor?  "  asked  the  sick  man,  fiercely. 

"I'm  afear'd  I'm  not,  in  the  sense  of  a  gradum  Univer- 
sitatis,  —  a  diplomia ;  but  sure  maybe  Paracelsus  himself 
just  took  to  it,  like  me,  having  a  vocation,  as  one  might 
say." 

"  Ring  that  bell,"  said  the  other,  peremptorily. 

And  Billy  obeyed  without  speaking. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  this,  Craggs?"  said  the  Vis- 
count, trembling  with  passion.  "  Who  have  you  brought 
me?  What  beggar  have  you  picked  off  the  highway?  Or 
is  he  the  travelling  fool  of  the  district?  " 


14         THE  FOKTUNES  OE  GLENCORE. 

But  the  anger  that  supplied  strength  hitherto  now  failed 
to  impart  energy,  and  he  sank  back  wasted  and  exhausted. 
The  Corporal  bent  over  him,  and  spoke  something  in  a 
low  whisper,  but  whether  the  words  were  heard  or  not,  the 
sick  man  now  lay  still,  breathing  heavily. 

' '  Can  you  do  nothing  for  him  ?  "  asked  Craggs,  peevishly 
—  ' '  nothing  but  anger  him  ?  " 

"To  be  sure  I  can  if  you  let  me,"  said  Billy,  producing 
a  very  ancient  lancet-case  of  boxwood  tipped  with  ivory. 
*'  I'll  just  take  a  dash  of  blood  from  the  temporial  artery, 
to  relieve  the  cerebrum,  and  then  we  '11  put  cowld  on  his 
head,  and  keep  him  quiet." 

And  with  a  promptitude  that  showed  at  least  self-con- 
fidence, he  proceeded  to  accomplish  the  operation,  every 
step  of  which  he  effected  skilfully  and  well. 

"There,  now,"  said  he,  feeling  the  pulse,  as  the  blood 
continued  to  flow  freely,  ' '  the  circulatioi;i  is  relieved  at 
once;  it's  the  same  as  opening  a  sluice  in  a  mill-dam. 
He  's  better  already." 

"He  looks  easier,"  said  Craggs. 

"Ay,  and  he  feels  it,"  continued  Billy.  "Just  notice 
the  respiratory  organs,  and  see  how  easy  the  intercostials 
is  doing  their  work  now.  Bring  me  a  bowl  of  clean  water, 
some  vinegar,  and  any  ould  rags  you  have." 

Craggs  obeyed,  but  not  without  a  sneer  at  the  direction. 

"  All  over  the  head,"  said  Billy  ;  "all  over  it,  — back  and 
front,  —  and  with  the  blessing  of  the  Virgin,  I  '11  have  that 
hair  off  of  him  if  he  is  n't  cooler  towards  evening." 

So  saying,  he  covered  the  sick  man  with  the  wetted  cloths, 
and  bathed  his  hands  in  the  cooling  fluid. 

"Now  to  exclude  the  light  and  save  the  brain  from 
stimulation  and  excitation,"  said  Billy,  with  a  pompous 
enunciation  of  the  last  syllables  ;  "  and  then  quies  —  rest  — 
peace !  " 

And  with  this  direction,  imparted  with  a  caution  to  en- 
force its  benefits,  he  moved  stealthily  towards  the  door  and 
passed  out. 

"What  do  you  think  of  him?"  asked  the  Corporal, 
eagerly. 

"  He  '11  do  —  he  '11  do,"  said  Billy.     "  He 's  a  sanguineous 


GLENCOKE   CASTLE.  15 

temperament,  and  he  '11  bear  the  lancet.  It 's  just  like 
weatherin'  a  point  at  say.  If  you  have  a  craft  that  will 
carry  canvas,  there's  always  a  chance  for  you." 

''  He  perceived  that  you  were  not  a  doctor,"  said  Craggs, 
when  they  reached  the  corridor. 

"Did  he,  faix?"  cried  Billy,  half  indignantly.  "He 
might  have  perceived  that  I  did  n't  come  in  a  coach ;  that 
I  had  n't  my  hair  powdered,  nor  gold  knee-buckles  in  my 
smallcloths ;  but,  for  all  that,  it  would  be  going  too  far  to 
say  that  I  was  n't  a  doctor !  'T  is  the  same  with  physic  and 
poetry  —  you  take  to  it,  or  you  don't  take  to  it !  There 's 
chaps,  ay,  and  far  from  stupid  ones  either,  that  couldn't 
compose  you  ten  hexameters  if  ye'd  put  them  on  a  hot 
griddle  for  it;  and  there's  others  that  would  talk  rhyme 
rather  than  rayson!  And  so  with  the  ars  medicatrix  — 
everybody  has  n't  an  eye  for  a  hectic,  or  an  ear  for  a  cough 
—  non  contigit  cuique  adire  Corintheum.  '  T  is  n't  every  one 
can  toss  pancakes,  as  Horace  says." 

"Hush  —  be  still !  "  muttered  Craggs,  "  here 's  the  young 
master."  And  as  he  spoke,  a  youth  of  about  fifteen,  well 
grown  and  handsome,  but  poorly,  even  meanly  clad,  ap- 
proached them. 

"Have  you  seen  my  father?  What  do  you  think  of 
him?  "  asked  he,  eagerly. 

"'Tis  a  critical  state  he's  in,  your  honor,"  said  Billy, 
bowing  ;  "  but  I  think  he  '11  come  round  —  deplation^  depla- 
tion,  deplation  —  actio^  actio,  actio  ;  relieve  the  gorged  ves- 
sels, and  don't  drown  the  grand  hydraulic  machine,  the 
heart — them's  my  sentiments." 

Turning  from  the  speaker  with  a  look  of  angry  impa- 
tience, the  boy  whispered  some  words  in  the  Corporal's  ear. 

"What  could  I  do,  sir?"  was  the  answer;  "  it  was  this 
fellow  or  nothing." 

"And  better,  a  thousand  times  better,  nothing,"  said 
the  boy,  "than  trust  his  life  to  the  coarse  ignorance  of 
this  wretched  quack."  And  in  his  passion  the  words  were 
uttered  loud  enough  for  Billy  to  overhear  them. 

"Don't  be  hasty,  your  honor,"  said  Billy,  submissively, 
"and  don't  be  unjust.  The  realms  of  disaze  is  like  an 
unknown  tract  of  country,  or  a  country  that 's  only  known 


16         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

a  little,  just  round  the  coast,  as  it  might  be ;  once  ye  're 
beyond  that,  one  man  is  as  good  a  guide  as  another,  cceteris 
paribus,  that  is,  with  '  equal  lights.'  " 

"  What  have  you  done?  Have  you  given  him  anything? " 
broke  in  the  boy,  hurriedly. 

*'  I  took  a  bleeding  from  him,  little  short  of  sixteen 
ounces,  from  the  temporial,"  said  Billy,  proudly,  "  and  I'll 
give  him  now  a  concoction  of  meadow  saffron  with  a  pinch 
of  saltpetre  in  it,  to  cause  diaphoresis,  d'  ye  mind  ?  Mean- 
while, we're  disgorging  the  arachnoid  membranes  with 
cowld  applications,  and  we're  relievin'  the  cerebellum  by 
repose.  I  challenge  the  Hall,"  added  Billy,  stoutly,  "  to 
say  is  n't  them  the  grand  principles  of  '  traitment.'  Ah ! 
young  gentleman,"  said  he,  after  a  few  seconds'  pause, 
"  don't  be  hard  on  me,  because  I'm  poor  and  in  rags,  nor 
think  manely  of  me  because  I  spake  with  a  brogue,  and 
maybe  bad  grammar,  for,  you  see,  even  a  crayture  of  my 
kind  can  have  a  knowledge  of  disaze,  just  as  he  may  have 
a  knowledge  of  nature,  by  observation.  What  is  sickness, 
after  all,  but  just  one  of  the  phenomenons  of  all  organic 
and  inorganic  matter  —  a  regular  sort  of  shindy  in  a  man's 
inside,  like  a  thunderstorm,  or  a  hurry-cane  outside? 
Watch  what's  coming,  look  out  and  see  which  way  the 
mischief  is  brewin',  and  make  your  preparations.  That's 
the  great  study  of  physic." 

The  boy  listened  patiently  and  even  attentively  to  this 
speech,  and  when  Billy  had  concluded,  he  turned  to  the 
Corporal  and  said,  "Look  to  him,  Craggs,  and  let  him 
have  his  supper,  and  when  he  has  eaten  it  send  him  to 
my  room." 

Billy  bowed  an  acknowledgment,  and  followed  the 
Corporal  to  the  kitchen. 

"  That's  my  lord's  son,  I  suppose,"  said  he,  as  he  seated 
himself,  ''and  a  fine  young  crayture  too — puer  ingenuus, 
with  a  grand  frontal  development."  And  with  this  re- 
flection he  addressed  himself  to  the  coarse  but  abundant 
fare  which  Craggs  placed  before  him,  and  with  an  appetite 
that  showed  how  much  he  relished  it. 

"  This  is  elegant  living  ye  have  here,  Mr.  Craggs,"  said 
Billy,  as  he  drained   his   tankard   of  beer,  and   placed   it 


GLENCORE  CASTLE.  17 

with  a  sigh  on  the  table ;  ''  many  happy  years  of  it  to  ye  — 
I  could  n't  wish  ye  anything  better." 

"The  life  is  not  so  bad,"  said  Craggs,  *'but  it's  lonely 
sometimes." 

"  Life  need  never  be  lonely  so  long  as  a  man  has  health 
and  his  faculties,"  said  Billy;  "give  me  nature  to  admire, 
a  bit  of  baycon  for  dinner,  and  my  fiddle  to  amuse  me,  and 
I  would  n't  change  with  the  King  of  Sugar  '  Candy.'  " 

"  I  was  there,"  said  Craggs,  "  it 's  a  fine  island." 

"  My  lord  wants  to  see  the  doctor,"  said  a  woman, 
entering  hastily. 

"And  the  doctor  is  ready  for  him,"  said  Billy,  rising 
and  leaving  the  kitchen  with  all  the  dignity  he  could 
assume. 


CHAPTER  III. 

BILLY  TRAYNOR  —  POET,    PEDLAR,    AND    PHYSICIAN. 

**  Did  n't  I  tell  you  how  it  would  be?"  said  Billy,  as  he 
re-entered  the  kitchen,  now  crowded  by  the  workpeople, 
anxious  for  tidings  of  the  sick  man.  * '  The  head  is  re- 
leaved,  the  congestive  symptoms  is  allayed,  and  when  the 
artarial  excitement  subsides,  he  '11  be  out  of  danger." 

"  Musha,  but  I'm  glad,"  muttered  one;  "he'd  be  a 
great  loss  to  us." 

''True  for  you,  Patsey;  there's  eight  or  nine  of  us  here 
would  miss  him  if  he  was  gone." 

''Troth,  he  doesn't  give  much  employment,  but  we 
could  n't  spare  him,"  croaked  out  a  third,  when  the  en- 
trance of  the  Corporal  cut  short  further  commentary ;  and 
the  party  gathered  around  the  cheerful  turf  fire  with  that 
instinctive  sense  of  comfort  impressed  by  the  swooping 
wind  and  rain  that  beat  against  the  windows. 

"It's  a  dreadful  night  outside;  I  would  n't  like  to  cross 
the  lough. in  it,"  said  one. 

"  Then  that's  just  what  I'm  thinking  of  this  minit,"  said 
Billy.  "  I  '11  have  to  be  up  at  the  office  for  the  bags  at 
six  o'clock." 

"  Faix,  you'll  not  see  Leenane  at  six  o'clock  to-morrow." 

"  Sorra  taste  of  it,"  muttered  another;  "there's  a  sea 
i-unnin'  outside  now  that  would  swamp  a  life-boat." 

"I'll  not  lose  an  illigant  situation  of  six  pounds  ten  a 
year,  and  a  pair  of  shoes  at  Christmas,  for  want  of  a  bit 
of  courage,"  said  Billy;  "I'd  have  my  dismissal  if  I 
wasn't  there  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Billy  Traynor." 

"  And  better  for  you  than  lose  your  life,  Billy,"  said  one. 

"And  it's  not  alone  myself  I'd  be  thinking  of,"  said 
Billy;  "but  every  man  in  this  world,  high  and  low,  has 
his  duties.     My  duty,"  added  he,  somewhat  pretentiously, 


BILLY  TEA YNOR  — POET,  PEDLAR,  AND  PHYSICIAN.    19 

*'is  to  carry  the  King's  mail;  and  if  anything  was  to 
obstruckt,  or  impade,  or  delay  the  correspondience,  it 's  on 
me  the  blame  would  lie." 

*' The  letters  wouldn't  go  the  faster  because  you  were 
drowned,"  broke  in  the  Corporal. 

"No,  sir,"  said  Billy,  rather  staggered  by  the  grin  of 
approval  that  met  this  remark — "no,  sir,  what  you  ob- 
sarve  is  true ;  but  nobody  reflects  on  the  sintry  that  dies 
at  his  post." 

"  If  you  must  and  will  go,  I'll  give  you  the  yawl,"  said 
Craggs ;   "  and  I  '11  go  with  you  myself." 

"  Spoke  like  a  British  Grenadier,"  cried  Billy,  with 
enthusiasm. 

"  Carbineer,  if  the  same  to  you,  master,"  said  the  other, 
quietly ;   "I  never  served  in  the  infantry." 

"  Tros  Tyriusve  mihi"  cried  Billy;  "which  is  as  much 
as  to  say,  — 

"  *  To  storm  the  skies,  or  lay  siege  to  the  moon, 
Give  me  one  of  the  line,  or  a  heavy  dragoon,* 

it's  the  same  to  me,  as  the  poet  says." 

And  a  low  murmur  of  the  company  seemed  to  accord 
approval  to  the  sentiment. 

"  I  wish  you  'd  give  us  a  tune,  Billy,"  said  one,  coaxingly. 

"  Or  a  song  would  be  better,"  observed  another. 

"Faix,"  cried  a  third,  "'tis  himself  could  do  it,  and  in 
Frinch  or  Latin  if  ye  wanted  it." 

"The  Germans  was  the  best  I  ever  knew  for  music," 
broke  in  Craggs.  "I  was  brigaded  with  Arentschild's 
Hanoverians  in  Spain;  and  they  used  to  sit  outside  the 
tents  every  evening,  and  sing.  By  Jove!  how  they  did 
sing  — all  together,  like  the  swell  of  a  church  organ." 

"Yes,  you're  right,"  said  Billy,  but  evidently  yielding 
an  unwilling  assent  to  this  doctrine.  "The  Germans  has 
a  fine  national  music,  and  they  're  great  for  harmony.  But 
harmony  and  melody  is  two  different  things." 

"  And  which  is  best,  Billy?  "  asked  one  of  the  company. 

"  Musha,  but  I  pity  your  ignorance,"  said  Billy,  with 
a  degree  of  confusion  that  raised  a  hearty  laugh  at  his 
expense. 

'*  Well,  but  Where's  the  song?"  exclaimed  another. 


20         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"  Ay,"  said  Craggs,  "  we  are  forgetting  the  song.  Now 
for  it,  Billy.  Since  all  is  going  on  so  well  above  stairs, 
I  '11  draw  you  a  gallon  of  ale,  boys,  and  we  '11  drink  to  the 
master's  speedy  recovery." 

It  was  a  rare  occasion  when  the  Corporal  suffered  himself 
to  expand  in  this  fashion,  and  great  was  the  applause  at  the 
unexpected  munificence. 

Billy  at  the  same  moment  took  out  his  fiddle  and  began 
that  process  of  preparatory  screwing  and  scraping  which, 
no  matter  how  distressing  to  the  surrounders,  seems  to 
afford  intense  delight  to  performers  on  this  instrument. 
In  the  present  case,  it  is  but  fair  to  say,  there  was  neither 
comment  nor  impatience;  on  the  contrary,  they  seemed  to 
accept  these  convulsive  throes  of  sound  as  an  earnest  of 
the  grand  flood  of  melody  that  was  coming.  That  Billy  was 
occupied  with  other  thoughts  than  those  of  tuning  was,  how- 
ever, apparent,  for  his  lips  continued  to  move  rapidly ;  and 
at  moments  he  was  seen  to  beat  time  with  his  foot,  as  though 
measuring  out  the  rhythm  of  a  verse. 

"  I  have  it  now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said,  making 
a  low  obeisance  to  the  company ;  and  so  saying,  he  struck 
up  a  very  popular  tune,  the  same  to  which  a  reverend  divine 
wrote  his  words  of  *'  The  night  before  Larry  was  Stretched ;  " 
and  in  a  voice  of  a  deep  and  mellow  fulness,  managed  with 
considerable  taste,  sang  — 

•"  A  fig  for  the  chansons  of  France, 

Whose  meaning  is  always  a  riddle ; 
The  music  to  sing  or  to  dance 

Is  an  Irish  tune  played  on  the  fiddle. 
To  your  songs  of  the  I^hine  and  the  Rhone 

I  'm  ready  to  cry  out^am  satis  ; 
Just  give  us  something  of  our  own 
In  praise  of  our  Land  of  Potatoes. 

Tol  lol  de  lol,  etc. 

"  *  What  care  I  for  sorrows  of  those 

Who  speak  of  their  heart  as  a  cuore  ; 
How  expect  me  to  feel  for  the  woes 
Of  him  who  calls  love  an  amove  ! 
Let  me  have  a  few  words  about  home, 

With  music  whose  strains  I  'd  remember. 
And  I  '11  give  you  all  Florence  and  Rome, 
The'  they  have  a  blue  sky  in  December. 
Tollol  de  lol,  etc 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

CF 

BILLY  TRAYNOR  — POET,  PEDLAR,  AND  PHYSICIAN.    21 

" '  With  a  pretty  face  close  to  your  own, 

I  'in  sure  there 's  no  rayson  for  sighing ; 
Nor  when  walkin'  beside  her  alone, 

Why  the  blazes  be  talking  of  dying ! 
That 's  the  way  tho',  in  France  and  in  Spain, 
Where  love  is  not  real,  but  acted, 
^  You  must  always  purtend  you  're  insane, 

Or  at  laste  that  you  're  partly  distracted. 

Tol  lol  de  lol,  etc/  " 

It  is  very  unlikely  that  the  reader  will  estimate  Billy's 
impromptu  as  did  the  company;  in  fact,  it  possessed  the 
greatest  of  all  claims  to  their  admiration,  for  it  was  partly 
incomprehensible,  and  by  the  artful  introduction  of  a  word 
here  and  there,  of  which  his  hearers  knew  nothing,  the  poet 
was  well  aware  that  he  was  securing  their  heartiest  approval. 
Nor  was  Billy  insensible  to  such  flatteries.  The  irritahile 
genus  has  its  soft  side,  and  can  enjoy  to  the  uttermost  its 
own  successes.  It  is  possible,  if  Billy  had  been  in  another 
sphere,  with  much  higher  gifts,  and  surrounded  by  higher 
associates,  that  he  might  have  accepted  the  homage  tendered 
him  with  more  graceful  modesty,  and  seemed  at  least  less 
confident  of  his  own  merits ;  but  under  no  possible  change  of 
places  or  people  could  the  praise  have  bestowed  more  sincere 
pleasure. 

"  You're  right,  there,  Jim  Morris,"  said  he,  turning  sud- 
denly round  towards  one  of  the  company ;  "  you  never  said 
a  truer  thing  than  that.  The  poetic  temperament  is  riches 
to  a  poor  man.  Wherever  I  go  —  in  all  weathers,  wet  and 
dreary,  and  maybe  footsore,  with  the  bags  full,  and  the 
mountain  streams  all  flowin'  over  —  I  can  just  go  into  my 
own  mind,  just  the  way  you'd  go  into  an  inn,  and  order 
whatever  you  wanted.  I  don't  need  to  be  a  king,  to  sit  on 
a  throne;  I  don't  want  ships,  nor  coaches,  nor  horses,  to 
convay  me  to  foreign  lands.  I  can  bestow  kingdoms. 
When  I  haven't  tuppence  to  buy  tobacco,  and  without  a 
shoe  to  my  foot,  and  my  hair  through  my  hat,  I  can  be 
dancin'  wid  princesses,  and  handin'  empresses  in  to  tay." 

"Musha,  musha !"  muttered  the  surrounders,  as  though 
they  were  listening  to  a  magician,  who  in  a  moment  of  un- 
guarded familiarity  condescended  to  discuss  his  own  miracu- 
lous gifts. 


22         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"And,"  resumed  Billy,  "it  isn't  only  what  ye  are  to 
yourself  and  your  own  heart,  but  what  ye  are  to  others,  that 
without  that  sacret  bond  between  you,  wouldn't  think  of 
you  at  all.  I  remember,  once  on  a  time,  I  was  in  the  north 
of  England  travelling,  partly  for  pleasure,  and  partly  with  a 
view  to  a  small  speculation  in  Sheffield  ware  —  cheap  pen- 
knives and  scissors,  pencil-cases,  bodkins,  and  the  like  — 
and  1  wandered  about  for  weeks  through  what  they  call  the 
Lake  Country,  a  very  handsome  place,  but  nowise  grand  or 
sublime,  like  what  we  have  here  in  Ireland  —  more  wood, 
forest  timber,  and  better-off  people,  but  nothing  beyond 
that! 

"Well,  one  evening  —  it  was  in  August  —  I  came  down 
by  a  narrow  path  to  the  side  of  a  lake,  where  there  was  a 
stone  seat,  put  up  to  see  the  view  from,  and  in  front  was 
three  wooden  steps  of  stairs  going  down  into  the  water, 
where  a  boat  might  come  in.  It  was  a  lovely  spot,  and  well 
chosen,  for  you  could  count  as  many  as  five  promontories 
running  out  into  the  lake;  and  there  was  two  islands,  all 
wooded  to  the  water's  edge ;  and  behind  all,  in  the  distance, 
was  a  great  mountain,  with  clouds  on  the  top ;  and  it  was  just 
the  season  when  the  trees  is  beginnin'  to  change  their  colors, 
and  there  was  shades  of  deep  gold,  and  dark  olive,  and 
russet  brown,  all  mingling  together  with  the  green,  and 
glowing  in  the  lake  below  under  the  setting  sun,  and  all  was 
quiet  and  still  as  midnight;  and  over  the  water  the  only 
ripple  was  the  track  of  a  water-hen,  as  she  scudded  past 
between  the  islands ;  and  if  ever  there  was  peace  and  tran- 
quillity in  the  world  it  was  just  there  !  Well,  I  put  down  my 
pack  in  the  leaves,  for  I  did  n't  like  to  see  or  think  of  it, 
and  I  stretched  myself  down  at  the  water's  edge,  and  I  fell 
into  a  fit  of  musing.  It 's  often  and  often  I  tried  to  remem- 
ber the  elegant  fancies  that  came  through  my  head,  and  the 
beautiful  things  that  I  thought  I  saw  that  night  out  on  the 
lake  fornint  me !  Ye  see  I  was  fresh  and  f astin' ;  I  never 
tasted  a  bit  the  whole  day,  and  my  brain,  maybe,  was  all 
the  better ;  for  somehow  janius,  real  janius,  thrives  best  on  a 
little  starvation.  And  from  musing  I  fell  off  asleep  ;  and  it 
was  the  sound  of  voices  near  that  first  awoke  me !  For  a  min- 
ute or  two  I  believed  I  was  dreaming,  the  words  came  so  softly 


BILLY  TRAYNOR  —  POET,  PEDLAR,  AND  PHYSICIAN.    23 

to  my  ear,  for  they  were  spoken  in  a  low,  gentle  voice,  and 
blended  in  with  the  slight  splash  of  oars  that  moved  through 
the  water  carefully,  as  though  not  to  lose  a  word  of  him  that 
was  speakin'. 

"It's  clean  beyond  me  to  tell  you  what  he  said;  and, 
maybe,  if  I  could,  ye  would  n't  be  able  to  follow  it,  for  he 
was  discoorsin'  about  night  and  the  moon,  and  all  that 
various  poets  said  about  them ;  ye  'd  think  that  he  had 
books,  and  was  reading  out  of  them,  so  glibly  came  the 
verses  from  his  lips.  I  never  listened  to  such  a  voice 
before,  so  soft,  so  sweet,  so  musical,  and  the  words  came 
droppin'  down,  like  the  clear  water  filterin'  over  a  rocky 
ledge,  and  glitterin'  like  little  spangles  over  moss  and  wild- 
flowers. 

' '  It  was  n't  only  in  English  but  Scotch  ballads,  too,  and 
once  or  twice  in  Italian  that  he  recited,  till  at  last  he  gave 
out,  in  all  the  fulness  of  his  liquid  voice,  them  elegant  lines 
out  of  Pope's  Homer :  — 

"  *  As  when  the  moon,  refulgent  lamp  of  night, 

O'er  heaven's  clear  azure  spreads  her  sacred  light, 

When  not  a  breath  disturbs  the  deep  serene. 

And  not  a  cloud  o'ercasts  the  Solemn  scene. 

Around  her  throne  the  vivid  planets  roll, 

And  stars  unnumbered  gild  the  glowing  pole : 

O'er  the  dark  trees  a  yellower  verdure  shed. 

And  top  with  silver  every  mountain's  head  ;  , 

Then  shine  the  vales ;  the  rocks  in  prospect  rise  —    / 

A  flood  of  glory  bursts  from  all  the  skies ; 

The  conscious  swains,  rejoicing  in  the  sight. 

Eye  the  blue  vault  and  bless  the  useful  light/ 

"  The  Lord  forgive  me,  but  when  he  came  to  the  last 
words  and  said,  '  useful  light,'  I  could  n't  restrain  myself, 
but  broke  out,  '  That 's  mighty  like  a  bull,  anyhow,  and 
reminds  me  of  the  ould  song,  — 

"  *  Good  luck  to  the  moon,  she  's  a  fine  noble  creature, 
And  gives  us  the  daylight  all  night  in  the  dark.' 

"Before  I  knew  where  I  was,  the  boat  glided  in  to  the 
steps,  and  a  liall  man,  a  little  stooped  in  the  shoulders, 
stood  before  me. 

"  '  Is  it  you,'  said  he,  with  a  quiet  laugh,  'that  accuses 
Pope  of  a  bull?' 


24         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"  'It  is/  says  I;  'and,  what's  more,  there  isn't  a  poet 
from  Horace  downwards  that  I  won't  show  bulls  in ;  there 's 
bulls  in  Shakspeare  and  in  Milton ;  there 's  bulls  in  the 
ancients  ;  I'll  point  out  a  bull  in  Aristophanes.' 

"  '  What  have  we  here?  '  said  he,  turning  to  the  others. 

"'A  poor  crayture,'  says  I,  'like  Goldsmith's  chest  of 
drawers,  — 

"  *  With  brains  reduced  a  double  debt  to  pay, 
To  dream  by  night,  sell  Sheflfield  ware  by  day.* 

"Well,  with  that  he  took  a  fit  of  laughing,  and  handing 
the  rest  out  of  the  boat,  he  made  me  come  along  at  his  side, 
discoorsin'  me  about  my  thravels,  and  all  I  seen,  and  all  I 
read,  till  we  reached  an  elegant  little  cottage  on  a  bank 
right  over  the  lake;  and  then  he  brought  me  in  and  made 
me  take  tay  with  the  family ;  and  I  spent  the  night  there ; 
and  when  I  started  the  next  morning  there  was  n't  a  '  screed ' 
of  my  pack  that  they  did  n't  buy,  penknives,  and  whistles, 
and  nut-crackers,  and  all,  just,  as  they  said,  for  keepsakes. 
Good  luck  to  them,  and  happy  hearts,  wherever  they  are, 
for  they  made  mine  happy  that  day ;  ay,  and  for  many  an 
hour  afterwards,  when  I  just  think  over  their  kind  words 
and  pleasant  faces." 

More  than  one  of  the  company  had  dropped  off  asleep 
during  Billy's  narrative,  and  of  the  others,  their  complaisance 
as  listeners  appeared  taxed  to  the  utmost,  while  the  Corporal 
snored  loudly,  like  a  man  who  had  a  right  to  indulge  himself 
to  the  fullest  extent. 

"There's  the  bell  again,"  muttered  one,  "that's  from 
the  '  lord's  room ; ' "  and  Craggs,  starting  up  by  the  instinct 
of  his  office,  hastened  off  to  his  master's  chamber. 

"My  lord  says  you  are  to  remain  here,"  said  he,  as  he 
re-entered  a  few  minutes  later;  "he  is  satisfied  with  your 
skill,  and  I  'm  to  send  off  a  messenger  to  the  post,  to  let 
them  know  he  has  detained  you." 

"I'm  obaydient,"  said  Billy,  with  a  low  bow;  "  and  now 
for  a  brief  repose  !  "  And  so  saying,  he  drew  a  long  woollen 
nightcap  from  his  pocket,  and  putting  it  over  his  eyes,  re- 
signed himself  to  sleep  with  the  practised  air  of  one  who 
needed  but  very  little  preparation  to  secure  slumber. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A   VISITOR. 

The  old  Castle  of  Glencore  contained  but  one  spacious 
room,  and  this  served  all  the  purposes  of  drawing-room, 
dining-room,  and  library.  It  was  a  long  and  lofty  chamber, 
with  a  raftered  ceiling,  from  which  a  heavy  chandelier  hung 
by  a  massive  chain  of  iron.  Six  windows,  all  in  the  same 
wall,  deeply  set  and  narrow,  admitted  a  sparing  light.  In 
the  opposite  wall  stood  two  fireplaces,  large,  massive,  and 
monumental,  the  carved  supporters  of  the  richly-chased 
pediment  being  of  colossal  size,  and  the  great  shield  of  the 
house  crowning  the  pyramid  of  strange  and  uncouth  objects 
that  were  grouped  below.  The  walls  were  partly  occupied 
by  bookshelves,  partly  covered  by  wainscot,  and  here  and 
there  displayed  a  worn-out  portrait  of  some  bygone  warrior 
or  dame,  who  little  dreamed  how  much  the  color  of  their 
effigies  should  be  indebted  to  the  sad  effects  of  damp  and 
mildew.  The  furniture  consisted  of  every  imaginable  type, 
from  the  carved  oak  and  ebony  console  to  the  white  and 
gold  of  Versailles  taste,  and  the  modern  compromise  of  com- 
fort with  ugliness  which  chintz  and  soft  cushions  accomplish. 
Two  great  screens,  thickly  covered  with  prints  and  draw- 
ings, most  of  them  political  caricatures  of  some  fifty  years 
back,  flanked  each  fireplace,  making,  as  it  were,  in  this  case 
two  different  apartments. 

At  one  of  those,  on  a  low  sofa,  sat,  or  rather  lay.  Lord 
Glencore,  pale  and  wasted  by  long  illness.  His  thin  hand 
held  a  letter,  to  shade  his  eyes  from  the  blazing  wood-fire, 
and  the  other  hand  hung  listlessly  at  his  side.  The  expres- 
sion of  the  sick  man's  face  was  that  of  deep  melancholy  — 
not  the  mere  gloom  of  recent  suffering,  but  the  deep-cut 
traces  of  a  long-carried  aflfliction,  a  sorrow  which  had  eaten 
into  his  very  heart,  and  made  its  home  there. 


26         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

At  the  second  fireplace  sat  his  son,  and,  though  a  mere 
boy,  the  lineaments  of  his  father  marked  the  youth's  face 
with  a  painful  exactness.  The  same  intensity  was  in  the 
eyes,  the  same  haughty  character  sat  on  the  brow;  and 
there  was  in  the  whole  countenance  the  most  extraordinary 
counterpart  of  the  gloomy  seriousness  of  the  older  face.  He 
had  been  reading,  but  the  fast-falling  night  obliged  him  to 
desist,  and  he  sat  now  contemplating  the  bright  embers  of 
the  wood  fire  in  dreamy  thought.  Once  or  twice  was  he 
disturbed  from  his  revery  by  the  whispered  voice  of  an  old 
serving-man,  asking  for  something  with  that  submissive 
manner  assumed  by  those  who  are  continually  exposed  to 
the  outbreaks  of  another's  temper ;  and  at  last  the  boy,  who 
had  hitherto  scarcely  deigned  to  notice  the  appeals  to  him, 
flung  a  bunch  of  keys  contemptuously  on  the  ground,  with  a 
muttered  malediction  on  his  tormentor. 

''What's  that?"  cried  out  the  sick  man,  startled  at  the 
sound. 

"  'T  is  nothing,  my  lord,  but  the  keys  that  fell  out  of 
my  hand,"  replied  the  old  man,  humbly.  "  Mr.  Craggs  is 
away  to  Leenane,  and  I  was  going  to  get  out  the  wine  for 
dinner." 

"  Where's  Mr.  Charles?"  asked  Lord  Glencore. 

"  He  's  there  beyant,"  muttered  the  other,  in  a  low  voice, 
while  he  pointed  towards  the  distant  fireplace  ;  ''  but  he  looks 
tired  and  weary,  and  I  did  n't  like  to  disturb  him." 

''Tired!  weary! — with  what?  Where  has  he  been; 
what  has  he  been  doing?"  cried  he,  hastily.  "Charles, 
Charles,  I  say !  " 

And  slowly  rising  from  his  seat,  and  with  an  air  of  languid 
indifference,  the  boy  came  towards  him. 

Lord  Glencore's  face  darkened  as  he  gazed  on  him. 

"  Where  have  you  been?"  asked  he,  sternly. 

"  Yonder,"  said  the  boy,  in  an  accent  like  the  echo  of  his 
own. 

"  There's  Mr.  Craggs,  now,  my  lord,"  said  the  old  butler, 
as  he  looked  out  of  the  window,  and  eagerly  seized  the 
opportunity  to  interrupt  the  scene;  "there  he  is,  and  a 
gentleman  with  him." 

"Ha!   go  and  meet  him,  Charles, — it's  Harcourt.     Go 


A  VISITOR.  27 

and  receive  him,  show  him  his  room,  and  then  bring  him 
here  to  me." 

The  boy  heard  without  a  word,  and  left  the  room  with 
the  same  slow  step  and  the  same  look  of  apathy.  Just  as 
he  reached  the  hall  the  stranger  was  entering  it.  He  was  a 
tall,  well-built  man,  with  the  mingled  ease  and  stiffness  of  a 
soldier  in  his  bearing ;  his  face  was  handsome,  but  somewhat 
stern,  and  his  voice  had  that  tone  which  implies  the  long 
habit  of  command. 

"You're  a  Massy,  that  I'll  swear  to,"  said  he,  frankly, 
as  he  shook  the  boy's  hand ;  "the  family  face  in  every  line- 
ament.    And  how  is  your  father  ?  " 

"  Better;  he  has  had  a  severe  illness." 

"  So  his  letter  told  me.  I  was  up  the  Rhine  when  I  re- 
ceived it,  and  started  at  once  for  Ireland." 

"  He  has  been  very  impatient  for  your  coming,"  said  the 
boy ;   "he  has  talked  of  nothing  else." 

"Ay,  we  are  old  friends.  Glencore  and  I  have  been 
schoolfellows,  chums  at  college,  and  messmates  in  the  same 
regiment,"  said  he,  with  a  slight  touch  of  sorrow  in  his 
tone.  "Will  he  be  able  to  see  me  now?  Is  he  confined 
to  bed?" 

"  No,  he  will  dine  with  you.  I  'm  to  show  you  your  room, 
and  then  bring  you  to  him." 

' '  That 's  better  news  than  I  hoped  for,  boy.  By  the  way, 
what 's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Charles  Conyngham." 

"To  be  sure,  Charles;  how  could  I  have  forgotten  it! 
So,  Charles,  this  is  to  be  my  quarters ;  and  a  glorious  view 
there  is  from  this  window.     What 's  the  mountain  yonder?  " 

"Ben  Creggan." 

"We  must  climb  that  summit  some  of  these  days, 
Charley.  I  hope  you  're  a  good  walker.  You  shall  be  my 
guide  through  this  wild  region  here,  for  I  have  a  passion  for 
explorings." 

And  he  talked  away  rapidly,  while  he  made  a  brief  toilet, 
and  refreshed  himself  from  the  fatigues  of  the  road. 

"  Now,  Charley,  I  am  at  your  orders;  let  us  descend  to 
the  drawing-room." 

"  You  '11  find  my  father  there,"  said  the  boy,  as  he  stopped 


28         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

short  at  the  door ;  and  Harcourt,  staring  at  him  for  a  second 
or  two  in  silence,  turned  the  handle  and  entered. 

Lord  Glencore  never  turned  his  head  as  the  other  drew 
nigh,  but  sat  with  his  forehead  resting  on  the  table,  extend- 
ing his  hand  only  in  welcome. 

' '  My  poor  fellow  !  "  said  Harcourt,  grasping  the  thin  and 
wasted  fingers,  —  "my  poor  fellow,  how  glad  I  am  to  be 
with  you  again !  "  And  he  seated  himself  at  his  side  as  he 
spoke.     "  You  had  a  relapse  after  you  wrote  to  me?  " 

Glencore  slowly  raised  his  head,  and,  pushing  back  a 
small  velvet  skull-cap  that  he  wore,  said,  — 

"  You 'd  not  have  known  me,  George.  Eh?  see  how  gray 
I  am!  I  saw  myself  in  the  glass  to-day  for  the  first  time, 
and  I  really  could  n't  believe  my  eyes." 

"  In  another  week  the  change  will  be  just  as  great  the 
other  way.     It  was  some  kind  of  a  fever,  was  it  not  ?  " 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  the  other,  sighing. 

"  And  they  bled  you  and  blistered  you,  of  course.  These 
fellows  are  like  the  farriers  —  they  have  but  the  one  system 
for  everything.  Who  was  your  torturer;  where  did  you 
get  him  from?" 

*' A  practitioner  of  the  neighborhood,  the  wild  growth  of 
the  mountain,"  said  Glencore,  with  a  sickly  smile;  "but  I 
must  n't  be  ungrateful ;  he  saved  my  life,  if  that  be  a  cause 
for  gratitude." 

"  And  a  right  good  one,  I  take  it.  How  like  you  that  boy 
is,  Glencore  !  I  started  back  when  he  met  me.  It  was  just 
as  if  I  was  transported  again  to  old  school-days,  and  had 
seen  yourself  as  you  used  to  be  long  ago.  Do  you  remem- 
ber the  long  meadow,  Glencore  ?  " 

"Harcourt,"  said  he,  falteringly,  "don't  talk  to  me  of 
long  ago,  —  at  least  not  now ;  "  and  then,  as  if  thinking 
aloud,  added,  "How  strange  that  a  man  without  a  hope 
should  like  the  future  better  than  the  past !  " 

"How  old  is  Charley?"  asked  Harcourt,  anxious  to  en- 
gage him  on  some  other  theme. 

"He'll  be  fifteen,  I  think,  his  next  birthday;  he  seems 
older,  does  n't  he  ?  " 

"Yes,  the  boy  is  well  grown  and  athletic.  What  has  he 
been- doing  —  have  you  had  him  at  a  school?" 


A  VISITOR.  _  29 

"At  a  school!"  said  Glencore,  starting;  "no,  he  has 
lived  always  here  with  myself.  I  have  been  his  tutor;  I 
read  with  him  every  day,  till  that  illness  seized  me." 

"  He  looks  clever ;  is  he  so?  " 

"Like  the  rest  of  us,  George,  he  may  learn,  but  he  can't 
be  taught.  The  old  obstinacy  of  the  race  is  strong  in  him, 
and  to  rouse  him  to  rebel  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  give  him  a 
task;  but  his  faculties  are  good,  his  apprehension  quick, 
and  his  memory,  if  he  would  but  tax  it,  excellent.  Here 's 
Craggs  come  to  tell  us  of  dinner ;  give  me  your  arm,  George, 
we  haven't  far  to  go  —  this  one  room  serves  us  for  everyr 
thing." 

"You're  better  lodged  than  I  expected — your  letters 
told  me  to  look  for  a  mere  barrack ;  and  the  place  stands 
so  well." 

"  Yes,  the  spot  was  well  chosen,  although  I  suppose  its 
founders  cared  little  enough  about  the  picturesque." 

The  dinner-table  was  spread  behind  one  of  the  massive 
screens,  and,  under  the  careful  direction  of  Craggs  and  old 
Simon,  was  well  and  amply  supplied,  —  fish  and  game,  the 
delicacies  of  other  localities,  being  here  in  abundance.  Har- 
court  had  a  traveller's  appetite,  and  enjoyed  himself  thor- 
oughly, while  Glencore  never  touched  a  morsel,  and  the  boy 
ate  sparingly,  watching  the  stranger  with  that  intense  curi- 
osity which  comes  of  living  estranged  from  all  society. 

"  Charley  will  treat  you  to  a  bottle  of  Burgundy,  Har- 
court,"  said  Glencore,  as  they  drew  round  the  fire;  "he 
keeps  the  cellar  key." 

"  Let  us  have  two,  Charley,"  said  Harcourt,  as  the  boy 
arose  to  leave  the  room,  ' '  and  take  care  that  you  carry  them 
steadily." 

The  boy  stood  for  a  second  and  looked  at  his  father,  as 
if  interrogating,  and  then  a  sudden  flush  suffused  his  face  as 
Glencore  made  a  gesture  with  his  hand  for  him  to  go. 

"  You  don't  perceive  how  you  touched  him  to  the  quick 
there,  Harcourt?  You  talked  to  him  as  to  how  he  should 
carry  the  wine ;  he  thought  that  office  menial  and  beneath 
him,  and  he  looked  at  me  to  know  what  he  should  do." 

"What  a  fool  you  have  made  of  the  boy!  "  said  Har- 
court, bluntly.  "By  Jove!  it  was  time  I  should  come 
here!" 


30         THE  EORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

When  the  boy  came  back  he  was  followed  by  the  old 
butler,  carefully  carrying  in  a  small  wicker  contrivance, 
Hihernic^  called  a  cooper,  three  cobwebbed  and  well-crusted 
bottles. 

''  Now,  Charley,"  said  Harcourt,  gayly,  "  if  you  want  to 
see  a  man  thoroughly  happy,  just  step  up  to  my  room  and 
fetch  me  a  small  leather  sack  you  '11  find  there  of  tobacco, 
and  on  the  dressing-table  you  '11  see  my  meerschaum  pipe ; 
be  cautious  with  it,  for  it  belonged  to  no  less  a  man  than 
Poniatowski,  the  poor  fellow  who  died  at  Leipsic." 

The  lad  stood  again  irresolute  and  confused,  when  a 
signal  from  his  father  motioned  him  away  to  acquit  the 
errand. 

''Thank  you,"  said  Harcourt,  as  he  re-entered;  "you 
see  I  am  not  vain  of  my  meerschaum  without  reason.  The 
carving  of  that  bull  is  a  work  of  real  art ;  and  if  you  were 
a  connoisseur  in  such  matters,  you  'd  say  the  color  was  per- 
fect. Have  you  given  up  smoking,  Glencore?  —  you  used 
to  be  fond  of  a  weed." 

"  I  care  but  little  for  it,"  said  Glencore,  sighing. 

"  Take  to  it  again,  my  dear  fellow,  if  only  that  it  is  a  bond 
'tween  yourself  and  every  one  who  whiffs  his  cloud.  There 
are  wonderfully  few  habits  —  I  was  going  to  say  enjoyments, 
and  I  might  say  so,  but  I  '11  call  them  habits  —  that  consort 
so  well  with  every  condition  and  every  circumstance  of  life, 
that  become  the  prince  and  the  peasant,  suit  the  garden  of 
the  palace  and  the  red  watch-fire  of  the  bivouac,  relieve  the 
weary  hours  of  a  calm  at  sea,  or  refresh  the  tired  hunter  in 
the  prairies." 

"  You  must  tell  Charley  some  of  your  adventures  in  the 
^est.  —  The  Colonel  has  passed  two  years  in  the  Rocky 
Mountains,"  said  Glencore  to  his  son. 

"  Ay,  Charley,  I  have  knocked  about  the  world  as  much 
as  most  men,  and  seen,  too,  my  share  of  its  wonders.  If 
accidents  by  sea  and  land  can  interest  you,  if  you  care  for 
stories  of  Indian  life  and  the  wild  habits  of  a  prairie  hunter, 
I  'm  your  man.  Your  father  can  tell  you  more  of  salons  and 
the  great  world,  of  what  may  be  termed  the  high  game  of 
life  —  " 

*'  I  have  forgotten  it,  as  much  as  if  I  had  never  seen  it," 


A  VISITOR.  31 

said  Glencore,  interrupting,  and  with  a  severity  of  voice  that 
showed  the  theme  displeased  him.  And  now  a  pause  ensued, 
painful  perhaps  to  the  others,  but  scarcely  felt  by  Harcourt, 
as  he  smoked  away  peacefully,  and  seemed  lost  in  the  wind- 
ings of  his  own  fancies. 

''Have  you  shooting  here,  Grlencore?"  asked  he  at 
length. 

"  There  might  be,  if  I  were  to  preserve  the  game." 

''  And  you  do  not.     Do  you  fish? " 

"No;  never." 

''  You  give  yourself  up  to  farming,  then?  " 

"Not  even  that;  the  truth  is,  Harcourt,  I  literally  do 
nothing.  A  few  newspapers,  a  stray  review  or  so,  reach 
me  in  these  solitudes,  and  keep  me  in  a  measure  informed 
as  to  the  course  of  events ;  but  Charley  and  I  con  over  our 
classics  together,  and  scrawl  sheets  of  paper  with  algebraic 
signs,  and  puzzle  our  heads  over  strange  formulas,  wonder- 
fully indifferent  to  what  the  world  is  doing  at  the  other  side 
of  this  little  estuary." 

"  You  of  all  men  living  to  lead  such  a  life  as  this !  a  fel- 
low that  never  could  cram  occupation  enough  into  his  short 
twenty-four  hours,"  broke  in  Harcourt. 

Glencore's  pale  cheek  flushed  slightly,  and  an  impatient 
movement  of  his  fingers  on  the  table  showed  how  ill  he  rel- 
ished any  allusion  to  his  own  former  life. 

"  Charley  will  show  you  to-morrow  all  the  wonders  of 
our  erudition,  Harcourt,"  said  he,  changing  the  subject; 
"  we  have  got  to  think  ourselves  very  learned,  and  I  hope 
you'll  be  polite  enough  not  to  undeceive  us." 

"  You  '11  have  a  merciful  critic,  Charley,"  said  the  Colonel, 
laughing,  "for  more  reasons  than  one.  Had  the  question 
been  how  to  track  a  wolf  or  wind  an  antelope,  to  out- 
manoeuvre a  scout  party  or  harpoon  a  calf -whale,  I  'd  not 
yield  to  many ;  but  if  you  throw  me  amongst  Greek  roots  or 
double  equations,  I  'm  only  Samson  with  his  hair  en  crop  !  " 

The  solemn  clock  over  the  mantelpiece  struck  ten,  and  the 
boy  arose  as  it  ceased. 

"That's  Charley's  bedtime,"  said  Glencore,  "and  we 
are  determined  to  make  no  stranger  of  you,  George.  He  '11 
say  good-night." 


32         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

And  with  a  manner  of  mingled  shyness  and  pride  the 
boy  held  out  his  hand,  which  the  soldier  shook  cordially, 
saying,  — 

"To-morrow,  then,  Charley,  I  count  upon  you  for  my 
day,  and  so  that  it  be  not  to  be  passed  in  the  library  I  '11 
acquit  myself  creditably." 

''I  like  your  boy,  Glencore,"  said  he,  as  soon  as  they 
were  alone.  "Of  course  I  have  seen  very  little  of  him; 
and  if  I  had  seen  more  I  should  be  but  a  sorry  judge  of 
what  people  would  call  his  abilities.  But  he  is  a  good  stamp  : 
'  Gentleman '  is  written  on  him  in  a  hand  that  any  can  read ; 
and,  by  Jove !  let  them  talk  as  they  will,  but  that 's  half  the 
battle  of  life !  " 

"  He  is  a  strange  fellow;  you'll  not  understand  him  in  a 
moment,"  said  Glencore,  smiling  half  sadly  to  himself. 

"  Not  understand  him,  Glencore?  I  read  him  like  print, 
man.  You  think  that  his  shy,  bashful  manner  imposes  upon 
me ;  not  a  bit  of  it ;  I  see  the  fellow  is  as  proud  as  Lucifer. 
All  your  solitude  and  estrangement  from  the  world  have  n't 
driven  out  of  his  head  that  he's  to  be  a  Viscount  one  of 
these  days ;  and  somehow,  wherever  he  has  picked  it  up,  he 
has  got  a  very  pretty  notion  of  the  importance  and  rank  that 
same  title  confers." 

"Let  us  not  speak  of  this  now,  Harcourt;  I'm  far  too 
weak  to  enter  upon  what  it  would  lead  to.  It  is,  however, 
the  great  reason  for  which  I  entreated  you  to  come  here. 
And  to-morrow  —  at  all  events  in  a  day  or  two  —  we  can 
speak  of  it  fully.  And  now  I  must  leave  you.  You  '11  have 
to  rough  it  here,  George ;  but  as  there  is  no  man  can  do  so 
with  a  better  grace,  I  can  spare  my  apologies ;  only,  I  beg, 
don't  let  the  place  be  worse  than  it  need  be.  Give  your 
orders ;  get  what  you  can ;  and  see  if  your  tact  and  knowl- 
edge of  life  cannot  remedy  many  a  difficulty  which  our 
ignorance  or  apathy  have  served  to  perpetuate." 

"I'll  take  the  command  of  the  garrison  with  pleasure," 
said  Harcourt,  filling  up  his  glass,  and  replenishing  the  fire. 
"And  now  a  good  night's  rest  to  you,  for  I  half  suspect  I 
have  already  jeopardied  some  of  it." 

The  old  campaigner  sat  till  long  past  midnight.  The 
generous  wine,   his   pipe,  the   cheerful   wood-fire,  were   all 


A  VISITOR.  33 

companionable  enough,  and  well  suited  thoughts  which  took 
no  high  or  heroic  range,  but  were  chiefly  reveries  of  the  past, 
—  some  sad,  some  pleasant,  but  all  tinged  with  the  one  phi- 
losophy, which  made  him  regard  the  world  as  a  campaign, 
wherein  he  who  grumbles  or  repines  is  but  a  sorry  soldier, 
and  unworthy  of  his  cloth. 

It  was  not  till  the  last  glass  was  drained  that  he  arose  to 
seek  his  bed,  and  presently  humming  some  old  air  to  him- 
self, he  slowly  mounted  the  stairs  to  his  chamber. 


CHAPTER  V. 

COLONEL   HARCOURT's   LETTER. 

As  we  desire  throughout  this  tale  to  make  the  actors  them- 
selves, wherever  it  be  possible,  the  narrators,  using  their 
words  in  preference  to  our  own,  we  shall  now  place  before 
the  reader  a  letter  written  by  Colonel  Harcourt  about  a  week 
after  his  arrival  at  Glencore,  which  will  at  least  serve  to 
rescue  him  and  ourselves  from  the  task  of  repetition. 

It  was  addressed  to  Sir  Horace  Upton,  Her  Majesty's 
Envoy  at  Stuttgard,  one  who  had  formerly  served  in  the 
same  regiment  with  Glencore  and  himself,  but  who  left  the 
army  early  to  follow  the  career  of  diplomacy,  wherein,  still 
a  young  man,  he  had  risen  to  the  rank  of  a  minister.  It  is 
not  important,  at  this  moment,  to  speak  more  particularly  of 
his  character,  than  that  it  was  in  almost  every  respect  the 
opposite  of  his  correspondent's.  Where  the  one  was  frank, 
open,  and  unguarded,  the  other  was  cold,  cautious,  and  re- 
served ;  where  one  believed,  the  other  doubted ;  where  one 
was  hopeful,  the  other  had  nothing  but  misgivings.  Har- 
court would  have  twenty  times  a  day  wounded  the  feelings, 
or  jarred  against  the  susceptibility,  of  his  best  friend; 
Upton  could  not  be  brought  to  trench  upon  the  slightest 
prejudice  of  his  greatest  enemy.  We  might  continue  this 
contrast  to  every  detail  of  their  characters ;  but  enough  has 
now  been  said,  and  we  proceed  to  the  letter  in  question : 

Glencore  Castle. 
Dear  Upton,  —  True  to  my  promise  to  give  you  early  tidings 
of  our  old  friend,  I  sit  down  to  pen  a  few  lines,  which  if  a  rickety 
table  and  some  infernal  lampblack  for  ink  should  make  illegible, 
you  '11  have  to  wait  for  the  elucidation  till  my  arrival.  I  found 
Glencore  terribly  altered  ;  I  'd  not  have  known  him.  He  used  to 
be  muscular  and  rather  full  in  habit ;  he  is  now  a  mere  skeleton. 
His  hair  and  mustache  were  coal  black ;  they  are  a  motley  grajo 


COLONEL  HARCOURT'S  LETTER.         35 

/' 
He  was  straight  as  an  arrow  —  pretentiously  erect,  many  thought ; 
he  is  stooped  now,  and  bent  nearly  double.  His  voice,  too,  the 
most  clear  and  ringing  in  the  squadron,  is  become  a  hoarse  whis- 
per. You  remember  what  a  passion  he  had  for  dress,  and  how 
heartily  we  ^11  deplored  the  chance  of  his  being  colonel,  well  know- 
ing what  precious  caprices  of  costly  costume  would  be  the  conse- 
quence ;  well,  a  discharged  corporal  in  a  cast-oft'  mufti  is  stylish 
compared  to  him.  I  don't  think  he  has  a  hat  —  I  have  only  seen 
an  oilskin  cap ;  but  his  coat,  his  one  coat,  is  a  curiosity  of  in- 
dustrious patchwork;  and  his  trousers  are  a  pair  of  our  old 
overalls,  the  same  pattern  we  wore  at  Hoimslow  when  the  King 
reviewed  us. 

Great  as  these  changes  are,  they  are  nothing  to  the  alteration  in 
the  poor  fellow's  disposition.  He  that  was  generous  to  munifi- 
cence is  now  an  absolute  miser,  descending  to  the  most  pitiful 
economy  and  moaning  over  every  trifling  outlay.  He  is  irritable, 
too,  to  a  degree.  Far  from  the  jolly,  light-hearted  comrade,  ready 
to  join  in  the  laugh  against  himself,  and  enjoy  a  jest  of  which  he 
was  the  object,  he  suspects  a  slight  in  every  allusion,  and  bristles 
up  to  resent  a  mere  familiarity  as  though  it  were  an  insult. 

Of  course  I  put  much  of  this  down  to  the  score  of  illness,  and  of 
bad  health  before  he  was  so  ill ;  but,  depend  upon  it,  he  's  not  the 
man  we  knew  him.  Heaven  knows  if  he  ever  will  be  so  again. 
The  night  I  arrived  here  he  was  more  natural,  more  like  himself, 
in  fact,  than  he  has  ever  been  since.  His  manner  was  heartier, 
and  in  his  welcome  there  was  a  touch  of  the  old  jovial  good  fellow, 
who  never  was  so  happy  as  when  sharing  his  quarters  with  a  com- 
rade. Since  that  he  has  grown  punctilious,  anxiously  asking  me  if 
I  am  comfortable,  and  teasing  me  with  apologies  for  what  I  don't 
miss,  and  excuses  about  things  that  I  should  never  have  discovered 
wanting. 

I  think  I  see  what  is  passing  within  him ;  he  wants  to  be  con- 
fidential, and  he  does  n't  know  how  to  go  about  it.  I  suppose  he 
looks  on  me  as  rather  a  rough  father  to  confess  to  ;  he  is  n't  quite 
sure  what  kind  of  sympathy,  if  any,  he  '11  meet  with  from  me,  and 
he  more  than  half  dreads  a  certain  careless,  outspoken  way  in 
which  I  have  now  and  then  addressed  his  boy,  of  whom  more 
anon. 

I  may  be  right,  or  I  may  be  wrong,  in  this  conjecture ;  but  cer- 
tain it  is,  that  nothing  like  confidential  conversation  has  yet  passed 
between  us,  and  each  day  seems  to  render  the  prospect  of  such 
only  less  and  less  likely.  I  wish  from  my  heart  you  were  here ; 
you  are  just  the  fellow  to  suit  him,  —  just  calculated  to  nourish  the 
susceptibilities  that  /  only  shock.  I  said  as  much  t'  other  day,  in 
a  half -careless  way,  and  he  immediately  caught  it  up,  and  said. 


36         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"  Ay,  George,  Upton  is  a  man  one  wants  now  and  then  in  life,  and 
when  the  moment  comes,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  substitute  for 
him."  In  a  joking  manner,  I  then  remarked,  "  Why  not  come  over 
to  see  him  ?  "  "  Leave  this  !  "  cried  he ;  "  venture  in  the  world 
again ;  expose  myself  to  its  brutal  insolence,  or  still  more  brutal 
pity  I  "  In  a  torrent  of  passion,  he  went  on  in  this  strain,  till  I 
heartily  regretted  that  I  had  ever  touched  this  unlucky  topic. 

I  date  his  greatest  reserve  from  that  same  moment ;  and  I  am 
sure  he  is  disposed  to  connect  me  with  the  casual  suggestion  to  go 
over  to  Stuttgard,  and  deems  me,  in  consequence,  one  utterly 
deficient  in  all  true  feeling  and  delicacy. 

I  need  n't  tell  you  that  my  stay  here  is  the  reverse  of  a  pleasure. 
I  *m  never  what  fine  people  call  bored  anywhere ;  and  I  could 
amuse  myself  gloriously  in  this  queer  spot.  I  have  shot  some 
half-dozen  seals,  hooked  the  heaviest  salmon  I  ever  saw  rise  to  a  fly, 
and  have  had  rare  coursing,  —  not  to  say  that  Glencore's  table,  with 
certain  reforms  I  have  introduced,  is  very  tolerable,  and  his  cellar 
unimpeachable.  I  '11  back  his  chambertin  against  your  Excel- 
lency's, and  T  have  discovered  a  bin  of  red  hermitage  that  would 
convert  a  whole  vineyard  of  the  smallest  Lafitte  into  Sneyd's 
claret ;  but  with  all  these  seductions,  I  can't  stand  the  life  of  con- 
tinued restraint  I  'm  reduced  to.  Glencore  evidently  sent  for  me 
to  make  some  revelations,  which,  now  that  he  sees  me,  he  cannot 
accomplish.  For  aught  I  know,  there  may  be  as  many  changes  in 
me  to  his  eyes  as  to  mine  there  are  in  him.  I  only  can  vouch  for  it, 
that  if  I  ride  three  stone  heavier,  I  have  n't  the  worse  place,  and  I 
don't  detect  any  striking  falling  off  in  ray  appreciation  of  good 
fare  and  good  fellows. 

I  spoke  of  the  boy  ;  he  is  a  fine  lad,  —  somewhat  haughty,  per- 
haps ;  a  little  spoiled  by  the  country  people  calling  him  the  young 
lord ;  but  a  generous  fellow,  and  very  like  Glencore  when  he  first 
joined  us  at  Canterbury.  By  M^ay  of  educating  him  himself,  Glen- 
core has  been  driving  Virgil  and  decimal  fractions  into  him  ;  and 
the  boy,  bred  in  the  country,  —  never  out  of  it  for  a  day,  —  can't 
load  a  gun  or  tie  a  hackle.  Not  the  worst  thing  about  the  lad  is 
his  inordinate  love  for  Glencore,  whom  he  imagines  to  be  about 
the  greatest  and  most  gifted  being  that  ever  lived.  I  can  scarcely 
help  smiling  at  the  implicitness  of  this  honest  faith  ;  but  I  take 
good  care  not  to  smile;  on  the  contrary,  I  give  every  possible 
encouragement  to  the  belief.  I  conclude  the  disenchantment  will 
arrive  only  too  early  at  last.  V  ^ 

You  '11  not  know  what  to  make  of  such  a  lengthy  epistle  S(om 
me,  and  you  '11  doubtless  torture  that  fine  diplomatic  intelligertrjei 
of  yours  to  detect  the  secret  motive  of  my  long-windedness ;  but  the 
simple  fact  is,  it  has  rained  incessantly  for  the  last  three  days,  and 


COLONEL  HARCOURT'S  LETTER.  87 

promises  the  same  cheering  weather  for  as  many  more.  Glencore 
doesn't  fancy  that  the  boy's  lessons  should  be  broken  in  upon, 
and  hinc  istce  litterce,  —  that's  classical  for  you. 

I  wish  1  could  say  when  I  am  likely  to  beat  my  retreat.  I  'd 
stay  —  not  very  willingly,  perhaps,  but  still  I  'd  stay  —  if  I  thought 
myself  of  any  use ;  but  I  cannot  persuade  myself  that  I  am  such. 
Glencore  is  now  about  again,  feeble  of  course,  and  much  pulled 
down,  but  able  to  go  about  the  house  and  the  garden.  I  can  con- 
tribute nothing  to  his  recovery,  and  I  fear  as  little  to  his  comfort. 
I  even  doubt  if  he  desires  me  to  prolong  my  visit ;  but  such  is  my 
fear  of  offending  him,  that  I  actually  dread  to  allude  to  my  depart- 
ure, till  I  can  sound  my  way  as  to  how  he  '11  take  it.  This  fact 
alone  will  show  you  how  much  he  is  changed  from  the  Glencore  of 
long  ago.  Another  feature  in  him,  totally  unlike  his  former  self, 
struck  me  the  other  evening.  We  were  talking  of  old  messmates 
—  Croydon,  Stanhope,  Loftus,  and  yourself  —  and  instead  of 
dwelling,  as  he  once  would  have  done,  exclusively  on  your  traits  of 
character  and  disposition,  he  discussed  nothing  but  your  abilities, 
and  the  capacity  by  which  you  could  win  your  way  to  honors  and 
distinction.  I  need  n't  say  how,  in  such  a  valuation,  you  came  off 
best.  Indeed,  he  professes  the  highest  esteem  for  your  talents,  and 
says,  "  You  '11  see  Upton  either  a  cabinet  minister  or  ambassador 
at  Paris  yet ;  "  and  this  he  repeated  in  the  same  words  last  night, 
as  if  to  show  it  was  not  dropped  as  a  mere  random  observation. 

I  have  some  scruples  about  venturing  to  offer  anything  border- 
ing on  a  suggestion  to  a  great  and  wily  diplomatist  like  yourself  ; 
but  if  an  illustrious  framer  of  treaties  and  protocols  would  conde- 
scend to  take  a  hint  from  an  old  dragoon  colonel,  I  'd  say  that  a 
few  lines  from  your  crafty  pen  might  possibly  unlock  this  poor 
fellow's  heart,  and  lead  him  to  unburthen  to  you  what  he  evidently 
cannot  persuade  himself  to  reveal  to  me.  I  can  see  plainly  enough 
that  there  is  something  on  his  mind ;  but  I  know  it  just  as  a  stupid 
old  hound  feels  there  is  a  fox  in  the  cover,  but  cannot  for  the  life 
of  him  see  how  he  's  to  "  draw "  him. 

A  letter  from  you  would  do  him  good,  at  all  events ;  even  the 
little  gossip  of  your  gossiping  career  would  cheer  and  amuse  him. 
He  said  very  plaintively,  two  nights  ago,  "  They  've  all  forgotten 
me.  When  a  man  retires  from  the  world  he  begins  to  die,  and  the 
great  event,  after  all,  is  only  the  coup  de  grace  to  a  long  agony  of 
torture."  Do  write  to  him,  then ;  the  address  is  "  Glencore  Castle, 
Leenane,  Ireland,"  where,  I  suppose,  I  shall  be  still  a  resident  for 
another  fortnight  to  come. 

Glencore  has  just  sent  for  me;  but  I  must  close  this  for  the 
post,  or  it  will  be  too  late. 

Yours  ever  truly, 

George  Harcourt. 


38         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

I  open  this  to  say  that  he  sent  for  me  to  ask  your  address,  — 
whether  through  the  Foreign  Office,  or  direct  to  Stuttgard.  You  '11 
probably  not  hear  for  some  days,  for  he  writes  with  extreme  diffi- 
culty, and  I  leave  it  to  your  wise  discretion  to  write  to  him  or  not 
in  the  interval. 

Poor  fellow,  he  looks  very  ill  to-day.  He  says  that  he  never 
slept  the  whole  night,  and  that  the  laudanum  he  took  to  induce 
drowsiness  only  excited  and  maddened  him.  I  counselled  a  hot 
jorum  of  mulled  porter  before  getting  into  bed;  but  he  deemed 
me  a  monster  for  the  recommendation,  and  seemed  quite  disgusted 
besides.  Could  n't  you  send  him  over  a  despatch  ?  I  think  such  a 
document  from  Stuttgard  ought  to  be  an  unfailing  soporific. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

QUEER   COMPANIONSHIP. 

When  Harcourt  repaired  to  Glencore's  bedroom,  where  he 
still  lay,  wearied  and  feverish  after  a  bad  night,  he  was 
struck  by  the  signs  of  suffering  in  the  sick  man's  face.  The 
cheeks  were  bloodless  and  fallen  in,  the  lips  pinched,  and  in 
the  eyes  there  shone  that  unnatural  brilliancy  which  results 
from  an  over- wrought  and  over- excited  brain. 

*'  Sit  down  here,  George,"  said  he,  pointing  to  a  chair 
beside  the  bed;  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  I  thought  every 
day  that  I  could  muster  courage  for  what  I  wish  to  say ;  but 
somehow,  when  the  time  arrived,  I  felt  like  a  criminal  who 
entreats  for  a  few  hours  more  of  life,  even  though  it  be  a 
life  of  misery." 

.  ''  It  strikes  me  that  you  were  never  less  equal  to  the  effort 
than  now,"  said  Harcourt,  laying  his  hand  on  the  other's 
pulse. 

"  Don't  believe  my  pulse,  George,"  said  Glencore,  smil- 
ing faintly.  ''The  machine  may  work  badly,  but  it  has 
wonderful  holding  out.  I  've  gone  through  enough,"  added 
he,  gloomily,  "  to  kill  most  men,  and  here  I  am  still,  breath- 
ing and  suffering." 

"This  place  doesn't  suit  you,  Glencore.  There  are  not 
above  two  days  in  the  month  you  can  venture  to  take  the 
air." 

"And  where  would  you  have  me  go,  sir?"  he  broke  in, 
fiercely.  "  Would  you  advise  Paris  and  the  Boulevards,  or 
a  palace  in  the  Piazza  di  Spagna  at  Rome ;  or  perhaps  the 
Chiaja  at  Naples  would  be  public  enough?  Is  it  that  I  may 
parade  disgrace  and  infamy  through  Europe  that  I  should 
leave  this  solitude?" 


40         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

**  I  want  to  see  you  in  a  better  climate,  Glencore,  — in  a 
place  where  the  sun  shines  occasionally." 

*'This  suits  me,"  said  the  other,  bluntly;  "and  here  I 
have  the  security  that  none  can  invade,  —  none  molest 
me.  But  it  is  not  of  myself  I  wish  to  speak,  —  it  is  of 
my  boy." 

Harcourt  made  no  reply,  but  sat  patiently  to  listen  to 
what  was  coming. 

"It  is  time  to  think  of  him,"  added  Glencore,  slowly. 
"The  other  day, — it  seems  but  the  other  day,  —  and  he 
was  a  mere  child  ;  a  few  years  more,  —  to  seem  when  past 
like  a  long  dreary  night,  —  and  he  will  be  a  man." 

"Very  true,"  said  Harcourt;  "and  Charley  is  one  of 
those  fellows  who  only  make  one  plunge  from  the  boy 
into  all  the  responsibilities  of  manhood.  Throw  him 
into  a  college  at  Oxford,  or  the  mess  of  a  regiment 
to-morrow,  and  this  day  week  you'll  not  know  him  from 
the  rest." 

Glencore  was  silent;  if  he  had  heard,  he  never  noticed 
Harcourt's  remark. 

"Has  he  ever  spoken  to  you  about  himself,  Harcourt?" 
asked  he,  after  a  pause. 

"  Never,  except  when  I  led  the  subject  in  that  direction; 
and  even  then  reluctantly,  as  though  it  were  a  topic  he  would 
avoid." 

"  Have  you  discovered  any  strong  inclination  in  him  for 
a  particular  kind  of  life,  or  any  career  in  preference  to 
another?" 

"  None ;  and  if  I  were  only  to  credit  what  I  see  of  him, 
I  'd  say  that  this  dull  monotony  and  this  dreary  uneventful 
existence  is  what  he  likes  best  of  all  the  world." 

"  You  really  think  so?  "  cried  Glencore,  with  an  eagerness 
that  seemed  out  of  proportion  to  the  remark. 

"  So  far  as  I  see,"  rejoined  Harcourt,  guardedly,  and  not 
wishing  to  let  his  observation  carry  graver  consequences 
than  he  might  suspect. 

"  So  that  you  deem  him  capable  of  passing  a  life  of  a 
quiet,  unambitious  tenor,  —  neither  seeking  for  distinctions 
nor  fretting  after  honors  ?  " 

"How   should   he  know  of  their    existence,    Glencore? 


QUEER  COMPANIONSHIP.  41 

What  has  the  boy  ever  heard  of  life  and  its  struggles  ?  It 's 
not  in  Homer  or  Sallust  he  'd  learn  the  strife  of  parties  and 
public  men." 

*'  And  why  need  he  ever  know  them?  "  broke  in  Glencore, 
fiercely. 

''If  he  doesn't  know  them  now,  he's  sure  to  be  taught 
them  hereafter.  A  young  fellow  who  will  succeed  to  a  title 
and  a  good  fortune  —  " 

"'  Stop,  Harcourt!  "  cried  Glencore,  passionately.  "  Has 
anything  of  this  kind  ever  escaped  you  in  intercourse  with 
the  boy?" 

"  Not  a  word  —  not  a  syllable." 

"Has  he  himself  ever,  by  a  hint,  or  by  a  chance  word, 
implied  that  he  was  aware  of  —  " 

Glencore  faltered  and  hesitated,  for  the  word  he  sought 
for  did  not  present  itself.  Harcourt,  however,  released  him 
from  all  embarrassment  by  saying,  — 

"  With  me  the  boy  is  rarely  anything  but  a  listener;  he 
hears  me  talk  away  of  tiger-shooting  and  buffalo-hunting, 
scarcely  ever  interrupting  me  with  a  question.  But  I  can 
see  in  his  manner  with  the  country  people,  when  they  salute 
him,  and  call  him  '  my  lord  '  —  " 

''  But  he  is  not  '  my  lord,' "  broke  in  Glencore. 

"  Of  course  he  is  not ;  that  I  am  well  aware  of." 

"He  never  will  —  never  shall  be,"  cried  Glencore,  in  a 
voice  to  which  a  long  pent-up  passion  imparted  a  terrible 
energy. 

' '  How !  —  what  do  you  mean,  Glencore  ?  "  said  Harcourt, 
eagerly.  "Has  he  any  malady;  is  there  any  deadly 
taint?" 

"  That  there  is,  by  Heaven !  "  cried  the  sick  man,  grasp- 
ing the  curtain  with  one  hand,  while  he  held  the  other  firmly 
clenched  upon  his  forehead,  —  "a  taint,  the  deadliest  that 
can  stain  a  human  heart!  Talk  of  station,  rank,  title — - 
what  are  they,  if  they  are  to  be  coupled  with  shame,  igno- 
miny, and  sorrow  ?  The  loud  voice  of  the  herald  calls  his 
father  Sixth  Viscount  of  Glencore,  but  a  still  louder  voice 
proclaims  his  mother  a  —  " 

With  a  wild  burst  of  hysteric  laughter,  he  threw  himself, 
face  downwards,  on  the  bed ;  and  now  scream  after  scream 


42         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

burst  from  him,  till  the  room  was  filled  by  the  servants,  in 
the  midst  of  whom  appeared  Billy,  who  had  only  that  same 
day  returned  from  Leenane,  whither  he  had  gone  to  make  a 
formal  resignation  of  his  functions  as  letter-carrier. 

"  This  is  nothing  but  an  '  accessio  nervosa,' ^*  said  Billy; 
*' clear  the  room,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  lave  me  with 
the  patient." .  And  Harcourt  gave  the  signal  for  obedience 
by  first  taking  his  departure. 

Lord  Glencore's  attack  was  more  serious  than  at  first  it 
was  apprehended,  and  for  three  days  there  was  every  threat 
of  a  relapse  of  his  late  fever;  but  Billy's  skill  was  once 
more  successful,  and  on  the  fourth  day  he  declared  that  the 
danger  was  past.  During  this  period,  Harcourt's  attention 
was  for  the  first  time  drawn  to  the  strange  creature  who 
oflflciated  as  the  doctor,  and  who,  in  despite  of  all  the 
detracting  influences  of  his  humble  garb  and  mean  attire, 
aspired  to  be  treated  with  the  deference  due  to  a  great 
physician. 

'' If  it's  the  crown  and  the  sceptre  makes  the  king,"  said 
he,  *''tis  the  same  with  the  science  that  makes  the  doctor; 
and  no  man  can  be  despised  when  he  has  a  rag  of  ould 
Galen's  mantle  to  cover  his  shoulders." 

*'  So  you're  going  to  take  blood  from  him?"  asked  Har- 
court, as  he  met  him  on  the  stairs,  where  he  had  awaited  his 
coming  one  night  when  it  was  late. 

"No,  sir;  'tis  more  a  disturbance  of  the  great  nervous 
centres  than  any  derangement  of  the  heart  and  arteries," 
said  Billy,  pompously ;  "  that's  what  shows  a  real  doctor,  — 
to  distinguish  between  the  effects  of  excitement  and  in- 
flammation, which  is  as  different  as  fireworks  is  from  a 
bombardment." 

''Not  a  bad  simile.  Master  Billy;  come  in  and  drink  a 
glass  of  brandy- and-water  with  me,"  said  Harcourt,  right 
glad  at  the  prospect  of  such  companionship. 

Billy  Tray  nor,  too,  was  flattered  by  the  invitation,  and 
seated  himself  at  the  fire  with  an  air  at  once  proud  and 
submissive. 

"  You've  a  diflScult  patient  to  treat  there,"  said  Harcourt, 
when  he  had  furnished  his  companion  with  a  pipe,  and  twice 
filled  his  glass  ;   ''  he 's  hard  to  manage,  I  take  it?  " 


QUEER  COMPANIONSHIP.  43 

'*  Yer*  right,"  said  Billy;  "  every  touch  is  a  blow,  every 
breath  of  air  is  a  hurricane  with  him.  There  's  no  such  thing 
as  traitin'  a  man  of  that  timperament ;  it 's  the  same  with 
many  of  them  ould  families  as  with  our  racehorses,  — they 
breed  them  too  fine." 

"Egad!  I  think  you  are  right,"  said  Harcourt,  pleased 
with  an  illustration  that  suited  his  own  modes  of  thinking. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Billy,  gaining  confidence  by  the  approval ; 
"  a  man  is  a  ma-chine,  and  all  the  parts  ought  to  be  bal- 
anced, and,  as  the  ancients  say,  in  equilihrio.  If  pre-pon- 
derance  here  or  there,  whether  it  be  brain  or  spinal  marrow, 
cardiac  functions  or  digestive  ones,  you  disthroy  him,  and 
make  that  dangerous  kind  of  constitution  that,  like  a  horse 
with  a  hard  mouth,  or  a  boat  with  a  weather  helm,  always 
runs  to  one  side." 

"That's  well  put,  well  explained,"  said  Harcourt,  who 
really  thought  the  illustration  appropriate. 

''Now,  my  lord  there,"  continued  Billy,  "is  all  out  of 
balance,  every  bit  of  him.  Bleed  him,  and  he  sinks  ;  stimu- 
late him,  and  he  goes  ragin'  mad.  '  T  is  their,  physical  con- 
formation makes  their  character ;  and  to  know  how  to  cure 
them  in  sickness,  one  ought  to  have  some  knowledge  of  them 
in  health." 

"How  came  you  to  know  all  this?  You  are  a  very  re- 
markable fellow,  Billy." 

"I  am,  sir;  I'm  a  phenumenon  in  a  small  way.  And 
many  people  thinks,  when  they  see  and  convarse  with  me, 
what  a  pity  it  is  I  hav'  n't  the  advantages  of  edication  and 
instruction ;  and  that 's  just  where  they  're  wrong,  —  com- 
plately  wrong." 

"  Well,  I  confess  I  don't  perceive  that." 

"I'll  show  you,  then.  There's  a  kind  of  janius  natural 
to  men  like  myself,  —  in  Ireland  I  mean,  for  I  never  heerd  of 
it  elsewhere,  —  that 's  just  like  our  Irish  emerald  or  Irish 
diamond,  —  wonderful  if  one  considers  where  you  find  it, 
astonishin'  if  you  only  think  how  azy  it  is  to  get,  but  a  regu- 
lar disappointment,  a  downright  take-in,  if  you  intend  to 
have  it  cut  and  polished  and  set.  No,  sir;  with  all  the 
care  and  culture  in  life,  you  '11  never  make  a  precious  stone 
of  it!" 


44  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"You've  not  taken  the  right  way  to  convince  me,  by 
using  such  an  illustration,  Billy." 

"  I  '11  try  another,  then,"  said  Billy.  ''  We  are  like  Willy- 
the-Whisps,  showing  plenty  of  light  where  there 's  no  road 
to  travel,  but  of  no  manner  of  use  on  the  highway,  or  in  the 
dark  streets  of  a  village  where  one  has  business." 

"  Your  own  services  here  are  the  refutation  to  your  argu- 
ment, Billy,"  said  Harcourt,  filling  his  glass. 

"  '  Tis  your  kindness  to  say  so,  sir,"  said  Billy,  with  grat- 
ified pride ;  "  but  the  sacrat  was,  he  thrusted  me,  —  that  was 
the  whole  of  it.  All  the  miracles  of  physic  is  confidence, 
just  as  all  the  magic  of  eloquence  is  conviction." 

"You  have  reflected  profoundly,  I  see,"  said  Harcourt. 

"  I  made  a  great  many  observations  at  one  time  of  my  life, 
—  the  opportunity  was  favorable." 

"  When  and  how  was  that?  " 

"  I  travelled  with  a  baste  caravan  for  two  years,  sir;  and 
there 's  nothing  taches  one  to  know  mankind  like  the  study 
of  bastes !  " 

"  Not  complimentary  to  humanity,  certainly,"  said  Har- 
court, laughing. 

"Yes,  but  it  is,  though;  for  it  is  by  a  con-sideration  of 
the  fercB  naturce  that  you  get  at  the  raal  nature  of  mere  ani- 
mal existence.  You  see  there  man  in  the  rough,  as  a  body 
might  say,  just  as  he  was  turned  out  of  the  first  workshop, 
and  before  he  was  infiltrated  with  the  divinus  afflatus,  the 
ethereal  essence,  that  makes  him  the  first  of  creation. 
There 's  all  the  qualities,  good  and  bad,  —  love,  hate,  ven- 
geance, gratitude,  grief,  joy,  ay,  and  mirth,  —  there  they  are 
in  the  brutes ;  but  they  're  in  no  subjection,  except  by  fear. 
Now,  it 's  out  of  man's  motives  his  character  is  moulded,  and 
fear  is  only  one  amongst  them.     D'  ye  apprehend  me  ?  " 

"Perfectly;  fill  your  pipe."  And  he  pushed  the  tobacco 
towards  him. 

' '  I  will ;  and  I  '11  drink  the  memory  of  the  great  and  good 
man  that  first  intro-duced  the  weed  amongst  us  —  Here's 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh !  By  the  same  token,  I  was  in  his  house 
last  week." 

"  In  his  house  !  where?  " 

"Down  at  Greyhall.     You  Englishmen,  savin'  your  pres- 


QUEER  COMPANIONSHIP.  45 

ence,  always  forget  that  many  of  your  celebrities  lived  years, 
in  Ireland  ;  for  it  was  the  same  long  ago  as  now,  —  a  place 
of  decent  banishment  for  men  of  janius,  a  kind  of  straw- 
yard  where  ye  turned  out  your  intellectual  hunters  till  the 
sayson  came  on  at  home." 

"  I  'm  sorry  to  see,  Billy,  that,  with  all  your  enlightenment, 
you  have  the  vulgar  prejudice  against  the  Saxon." 

''  And  that 's  the  rayson  I  have  it,  because  it  is  vulgar," 
said  Billy,  eagerly.  ''  Vulgar  means  popular,  common  to 
many ;  and  what 's  the  best  test  of  truth  in  anything  but 
universal  belief,  or  whatever  comes  nearest  to  it  ?  I  wish  I 
was  in  Parliament  —  I  just  wish  I  was  there  the  first  night 
one  of  the  nobs  calls  out  '  That 's  vulgar ;  '  and  I  'd  just  say 
to  him,  '  Is  there  anything  as  vulgar  as  men  and  women? 
Show  me  one  good  thing  in  life  that  is  n't  vulgar !  Show  me 
an  object  a  painter  copies,  or  a  poet  describes,  that  is  n't 
so!  '  Ay  eh,"  cried  he,  impatiently,  *' when  they  wanted  a 
hard  word  to  fling  at  us,  why  didn't  they  take  the  right 
one?" 

"But  you  are  unjust,  Billy;  the  ungenerous  tone  you 
speak  of  is  fast  disappearing.  Gentlemen  nowadays  use 
no  disparaging  epithets  to  men  poorer  or  less  happily  cir- 
cumstanced than  themselves." 

"  Faix,"  said  Billy,  "it  isn't  sitting  here  at  the  same 
table  with  yourself  that  I  ought  to  gainsay  that  remark." 

And  Harcourt  was  so  struck  by  the  air  of  good  breeding 
in  which  he  spoke,  that  he  grasped  his  hand,  and  shook  it 
warmly. 

"  And  what  is  more,"  continued  Billy,  "  from  this  day  out 
I'll  never  think  so." 

He  drank  off  his  glass  as  he  spoke,  giving  to  the  libation 
all  the  ceremony  of  a  solemn  vow. 

"  D'  ye  hear  that?  —  them  's  oars ;  there 's  a  boat  coming 
in." 

•"You  have  sharp  hearing,  master,"  said  Harcourt, 
laughing. 

" I  got  the  gift  when  I  was  a  smuggler,"  replied  he.  "I 
could  put  my  ear  to  the  ground  of  a  still  night,  and  tell  you 
the  tramp  of  a  revenue  boot  as  well  as  if  I  seen  it.  And 
now  I'll  lay  sixpence  it's  Pat  Morissy  is  at  the  bow  oar 


46  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

there  ;  he  rows  with  a  short  jerking  stroke  there 's  no  timing. 
That 's  himself,  and  it  must  be  something  urgent  from  the 
post-office  that  brings  him  over  the  lough  to-night." 

The  words  were  scarcely  spoken  when  Craggs  entered 
with  a  letter  in  his  hand. 

"This  is  for  you,  Colonel,"  said  he;  "  if  was  marked 
*  immediate,'  and  the  post-mistress  despatched  it  by  an 
express." 

The  letter  was  a  very  brief  one;  but,  in  honor  to  the 
writer,  we  shall  give  it  a  chapter  to  itself. 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

A   GREAT   DIPLOMATIST. 

My  dear  Harcourt,  —  I  arrived  here  yesterday,  and  by  good 
fortune  caught  your  letter  at  F.  O.,  where  it  was  awaiting  the 
departure  of  the  messenger  for  Germany. 

Your  account  of  poor  Glencore  is  most  distressing.  At  the 
same  time,  my  knowledge  of  the  man  and  his  temper  in  a  meas- 
ure prepared  me  for  it.  You  say  that  he  wishes  to  see  me,  and 
intends  to  write.  Now,  there  is  a  small  business  matter  between 
us,  which  his  lawyer  seems  much  disposed  to  push  on  to  a  diffi- 
culty, if  not  to  worse.  To  prevent  this,  if  possible,  —  at  all  events 
to  see  whether  a  visit  from  me  might  not  be  serviceable,  —  I  shall 
cross  over  to  Ireland  on  Tuesday,  and  be  with  you  by  Friday,  or 
at  latest  Saturday.  Tell  him  that  I  am  coming,  but  only  for  a 
day.  My  engagements  are  such  that  I  must  be  here  again  early 
in  the  following  week.     On  Thursday  I  go  down  to  Windsor. 

There  is  wonderfully  little  stirring  here,  but  I  keep  that  little 
for  our  meeting.  You  are  aware,  my  dear  friend,  what  a  poor, 
shattered,  broken-down  fellow  I  am ;  so  that  I  need  not  ask  you 
to  give  me  a  comfortable  quarter  for  my  one  night,  and  some 
shell-fish,  if  easily  procurable,  for  my  one  dinner. 

Yours,  ever  and  faithfully, 

H.  U. 

We  have  already  told  our  reader  that  the  note  was  a  brief 
one,  an4  yet  was  it  not  altogether  uncharacteristic.  Sir 
Horace  Upton  —  it  will  spare  us  both  some  repetition  if 
we  present  him  at  once  —  was  one  of  a  very  composite 
order  of  human  architecture ;  a  kind  of  being,  in  fact,  of 
which  many  would  deny  the  existence,  till  they  met  and 
knew  them,  so  full  of  contradictions,  real  and  apparent, 
was  his  nature.  Chivalrous  in  sentiment  and  cunning  in 
action,  noble  in  aspiration  and  utterly  sceptical  as  regards 
motives,  one  half  of  his  temperament  was  the  antidote  to 
the   other.     Fastidious   to  a  painful   extent  in  matters   of 


48         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

taste,  he  was  simplicity  itself  in  all  the  requirements  of  his 
life ;  and  with  all  a  courtier's  love  of  great  people,  not  only 
tolerating,  but  actually  preferring  the  society  of  men  be- 
neath him.  In  person  he  was  tall,  and  with  that  air  of 
distinction  in  his  manner  that  belongs  only  to  those  who 
unite  natural  graces  with  long  habits  of  high  society.  His 
features  were  finely  formed,  and  would  have  been  strikingly 
handsome,  were  the  expression  not  spoiled  by  a  look  of 
astuteness,  —  a  something  that  implied  a  tendenc}^  to  over- 
reach, —  which  marred  their  repose  and  injured  their  uni- 
formity. Not  that  his  manner  ever  betrayed  this  weakness ; 
far  from  it,  —  his  was  a  most  polished  courtesy.  It  was 
impossible  to  conceive  an  address  more  bland  or  more  con- 
ciliating. His  very  gestures,  his  voice,  languid  by  a  slight 
habit  of  indisposition,  seemed  as  though  exerted  above  their 
strength  in  the  desire  to  please,  and  making  the  object  of 
his  attentions  to  feel  himself  the  mark  of  peculiar  honor. 
There  ran  through  all  his  nature,  through  everything  he  did 
or  said  or  thought,  a  certain  haughty  humility,  which  served, 
while  it  assigned  an  humble  place  to  himself,  to  mark  out 
one  still  more  humble  for  those  about  him.  There  were  not 
many  things  he  could  not  do ;  indeed,  he  had  actually  done 
most  of  those  which  win  honor  and  distinction  in  life.  He 
had  achieved  a  very  gallant  but  brief  military  career  in 
India,  made  a  most  brilliant  opening  in  Parliament,  where 
his  abilities  at  once  marked  him  out  for  office,  was  suspected 
to  be  the  writer  of  the  cleverest  political  satire,  and  more 
than  suspected  to  be  the  author  of  "  the  novel"  of  the  day. 
With  all  this,  he  had  great  social  success.  He  was  deep 
enough  for  a  ministerial  dinner,  and  ''fast"  enough  for  a 
party  of  young  Guardsmen  at  Greenwich.  With  women, 
too,  he  was  especially  a  favorite ;  there  was  a  Machiavelian 
subtlety  which  he  could  throw  into  small  things,  a  mode 
of  making  the  veriest  trifles  little  Chinese  puzzles  of  inge- 
nuity, that  flattered  and  amused  them.  In  a  word,  he  had 
great  adaptiveness,  and  it  was  a  quality  he  indulged  less 
for  the  gratification  of  others  than  for  the  pleasure  it  af- 
forded himself. 

He  had  mixed  largely  in  society,  not  only  of  his  own,  but 
of  every  country  of  Europe.     He  knew  every  chord  of  that 


A  GREAT  DIPLOMATIST.  49 

complex  instrument  which  people  call  the  world,  like  a 
master;  and  although  a  certain  jaded  and  wearied  look,  a 
tone  of  exhaustion  and  fatigue,  seemed  to  say  that  he  was 
tired  of  it  all,  that  he  had  found  it  barren  and  worthless,  the 
real  truth  was,  he  enjoyed  life  to  the  full  as  much  as  on  the 
first  day  in  which  he  entered  it ;  and  for  this  simple  reason, 
—  that  he  had  started  with  an  humble  opinion  of  mankind, 
their  hopes,  fears,  and  ambitions,  and  so  he  continued,  not 
disappointed,  to  the  end. 

The  most  governing  notion  of  his  own  life  was  an  impres- 
sion that  he  had  a  disease  of  the  chest,  some  subtle  and 
mysterious  affection  which  had  defied  the  doctors,  and  would 
go  on  to  defy  them  to  the  last.  He  had  been  dangerously 
wounded  in  the  Burmese  war,  and  attributed  the  origin  of 
his  malady  to  this  cause.  Others  there  were  who  said  that 
the  want  of  recognition  to  his  services  in  that  campaign  was 
the  dii-est  of  all  the  injuries  he  had  received.  And  true  it 
was,  a  most  brilliant  career  had  met  with  neither  honors  nor 
advancement,  and  Upton  left  the  service  in  disgust,  carrying 
away  with  him  only  the  lingering  sufferings  of  his  wound. 
To  suggest  to  him  that  his  malady  had  any  affinity  to  any 
known  affection  was  to  outrage  him,  since  the  mere  suppo- 
sition would  reduce  him  to  a  species  of  equality  with  some 
one  else,  —  a  thought  infinitely  worse  than  any  mere  physical 
suffering ;  and,  indeed,  to  avoid  this  shocking  possibility,  he 
vacillated  as  to  the  locality  of  his  disorder,  making  it  now  in 
the  lung,  now  in  the  heart,  at  one  time  in  the  bronchial 
tubes,  at  another  in  the  valves  of  the  aorta.  It  was  his 
pleasure  to  consult  for  this  complaint  every  great  physician 
of  Europe,  and  not  alone  consult,  but  commit  himself  to 
their  direction,  and  this  with  a  credulity  which  he  could 
scarcely  have  summoned  in  any  other  cause. 

It  was  difficult  to  say  how  far  he  himself  believed  in  this 
disorder,  —  the  pressure  of  any  momentous  event,  the  neces- 
sity of  action,  never  finding  him  unequal  to  any  effort,  no 
matter  how  onerous.  Give  him  a  difficulty,  — a  minister  to 
outwit,  a  secret  scheme  to  unravel,  a  false  move  to  profit 
by,  —  and  he  rose  above  all  his  pulmonary  symptoms,  and 
could  exert  himself  with  a  degree  of  power  and  perseverance 
that  very  few  men  could  equal,   none  surpass.     Indeed  it 

4 


50         THE  FORTUNES  OF   GLENCORE. 

seemed  as  though  he  kept  this  malady  for  the  pastime  of  idle 
hours,  as  other  men  do  a  novel  or  a  newspaper,  but  would 
never  permit  it  to  interfere  with  the  graver  business  of  life. 

We  have,  perhaps,  been  prolix  in  our  description ;  but  we 
have  felt  it  the  more  requisite  to  be  thus  diffuse,  since  the 
studious  simplicity  which  marked  all  his  manner  might  have 
deceived  our  reader,  and  which  the  impression  of  his  mere 
words  have  failed  to  convey. 

"You  will  be  glad  to  hear  Upton  is  in  England,  Glen- 
core,'*  said  Harcourt,  as  the  sick  man  was  assisted  to  his 
seat  in  the  library,  "  and,  what  is  more,  intends  to  pay  you  a 
visit." 

"Upton  coming  here!"  exclaimed  Glencore,  with  an 
expression  of  mingled  astonishment  and  confusion;  "how 
do  you  know  that  V  " 

' '  He  writes  me  from  Long's  to  say  that  he  '11  be  with  us 
by  Friday,  or,  if  not,  by  Saturday." 

' '  What  *  miserable  place  to  receive  him ! "  exclaimed 
Glencore.  "  As  for  you,  Harcourt,  you  know  how  to  rough 
it,  and  have  bivouacked  too  often  under  the  stars  to  care 
much  for  satin  curtains.  But  think  of  Upton  here  !  How  is 
he  to  eat,  where  is  he  to  sleep  ?  " 

"By  Jove!  we '11  treat  him  handsomely.  Don't  you  fret 
yourself  about  his  comforts ;  besides,  I  've  seen  a  great  deal 
of  Upton,  and,  with  all  his  fastidiousness  and  refinement, 
he 's  a  thorough  good  fellow  at  taking  things  for  the  best. 
Invite  him  to  Chatsworth,  and  the  chances  are  he'll  find 
fault  with  twenty  things,  —  with  the  place,  the  cookery,  and 
the  servants ;  but  take  him  down  to  the  Highlands,  lodge 
him  in  a  shieling,  with  bannocks  for  breakfast  and  a  Fyne 
herring  for  supper,  and  I  '11  wager  my  life  you  '11  not  see  a 
ruflfle  in  his  temper,  nor  hear  a  word  of  impatience  out  of  his 
mouth." 

"I  know  that  he  is  a  well-bred  gentleman,"  said  Glen- 
core, half  pettishly;  "but  I  have  no  fancy  for  putting  his 
good  manners  to  a  severe  test,  particularly  at  the  cost  of  my 
own  feelings." 

"  I  tell  you  again  he  shall  be  admirably  treated  ;  he  shall 
have  my  room ;  and,  as  for  his  dinner.  Master  Billy  and  I 
are  going  to  make  a  raid  amongst  the  lobster-pots.     And 


A  GREAT  DIPLOMATIST.  51 

what  with  turbot,  oysters,  grouse-pie,  and  mountain  mutton, 
I  '11  make  the  diplomatist  sorrow  that  he  is  not  accredited  to 
some  native  sovereign  in  the  Arran  islands,  instead  of  some 
'  mere  German  Hertzog.'     He  can  only  stay  one  day." 

''One  day!" 

"  That's  all;  he  is  over  head  and  ears  in  business,  and  he 
goes  down  to  Windsor  on  Thursday,  so  that  there  is  no  help 
for  it." 

''  I  wish  I  may  be  strong  enough ;  I  hope  to  Heaven  that  I 
may  rally  —  "  Glencore  stopped  suddenly  as  he  got  thus 
far,  but  the  agitation  the  words  cost  him  seemed  most 
painful. 

'*  I  say  again,  don't  distress  yourself  about  Upton,  — 
leave  the  care  of  entertaining  him  to  me.  I  '11  vouch  for  it 
that  he  leaves  us  well  satisfied  with  his  welcome." 

*'  It  was  not  of  that  I  was  thinking,"  said  he,  impatiently ; 
''  I  have  much  to  say  to  him,  —  things  of  great  importance. 
It  may  be  that  I  shall  be  unequal  to  the  effort;  I  cannot 
answer  for  my  strength  for  a  day,  —  not  for  an  hour. 
Could  you  not  write  to  him,  and  ask  him  to  defer  his  coming 
till  such  time  as  he  can  spare  me  a  week,  or  at  least  some 
days?" 

"  My  dear  Glencore,  you  know  the  man  well,  and  that  we 
are  lucky  if  we  can  have  him  on  his  own  terms,  not  to  think 
of  imposing  ours ;  he  is  sure  to  have  a  number  of  engage- 
ments while  he  is  in  England." 

"  Well,  be  it  so,"  said  Glencore,  sighing,  with  the  air  of 
a  man  resigning  himself  to  an  inevitable  necessity. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    GREAT   MAN'S    ARRIVAL. 

**  Not  come,  Craggs !  "  said  Harcourt,  as  late  on  the  Satur- 
day evening  the  Corporal  stepped  on  shore,  after  crossing 
the  lough. 

*'  No,  sir,  no  sign  of  him.  I  sent  a  boy  away  to  the  top 
of  '  the  Devil's  Mother,'  where  you  have  a  view  of  the  road 
for  eight  miles,  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen." 

"You  left  orders  at  the  post-office  to  have  a  boat  in 
readiness  if  he  arrived?" 

"Yes,  Colonel,"  said  he,  with  a  military  salute;  and 
Harcourt  now  turned  moodily  towards  the  Castle. 

Glencore  had  scarcely  ever  been  a  very  cheery  residence, 
but  latterly  it  had  become  far  gloomier  than  before.  Since 
the  night  of  Lord  Glencore's  sudden  illness,  there  had  grown 
up  a  degree  of  constraint  between  the  two  friends  which  to 
a  man  of  Harcourt's  disposition  was  positive  torture.  They 
seldom  met,  save  at  dinner,  and  then  their  reserve  was  pain- 
fully evident. 

The  boy,  too,  in  unconscious  imitation  of  his  father,  grew 
more  and  more  distant ;  and  poor  Harcourt  saw  himself  in 
that  position,  of  all  others  the  most  intolerable,  —  the  unwill- 
ing guest  of  an  unwilling  host. 

"  Come  or  not  come,"  muttered  he  to  himself,  "  I  '11  bear 
this  no  longer.  There  is,  besides,  no  reason  why  I  should 
bear  it.  I  'm  of  no  use  to  the  poor  fellow ;  he  does  not  want, 
he  never  sees  me.  If  anything,  my  presence  is  irksome 
to  him;  so  that,  happen  what  will,  I'll  start  to-morrow,  or 
next  day  at  farthest." 

He  was  one  of  those  men  to  whom  deliberation  on  any 
subject  was  no  small  labor,  but  who,  once  that  they  have 
come  to  a  decision,  feel  as  if  they  had  acquitted  a  debt,  and 


THE   GREAT  MAN'S  ARRIVAL.  53 

need  give  themselves  no  further  trouble  in  the  matter.  In 
the  enjoyment  of  this  newly  purchased  immunity  he  entered 
the  room  where  Glencore  sat  impatiently  awaiting  him. 

"  Another  disappointment !  "  said  the  Viscount,  anxiously. 

''  Yes ;  Craggs  has  just  returned,  and  says  there  's  no  sign 
of  a  carriage  for  miles  on  the  Oughterard  road." 

''I  ought  to  have  known  it,"  said  the  other,  in  a  voice  of 
guttural  sternness.  ''He  was  ever  the  same;  an  appoint- 
ment with  him  was  an  engagement  meant  only  to  be  binding 
on  those  who  expected  him." 

''Who  can  say  what  may  have  detained  him?  He  was 
in  London  on  business,  —  public  business,  too ;  and  even  if 
he  had  left  town,  how  many  chance  delays  there  are  in 
travelling." 

' '  I  have  said  every  one  of  these  things  over  to  myself, 
Harcourt;  but  they  don't  satisfy  me.  This  is  a  habit 
with  Upton.  I  've  seen  him  do  the  same  with  his  Colonel, 
when  he  was  a  subaltern ;  I  've  heard  of  his  arrival  late  to 
a  Court  dinner,  and  only  smiling  at  the  dismay  of  the 
horrified  courtiers." 

"  Egad,"  said  Harcourt,  bluntly,  "  I  don't  see  the  advan- 
tage of  the  practice.  One  is  so  certain  of  doing  fifty 
things  in  this  daily  life  to  annoy  one's  friends,  through 
mere  inadvertence  or  forgetfulness,  that  I  think  it  is  but 
sorry  fun  to  incur  their  ill-will  by  malice  prepense." 

"  That  is  precisely  why  he  does  it." 

"Come,  come,  Glencore;  old  Rixson  was  right  when  he 
said,  '  Heaven  help  the  man  whose  merits  are  canvassed 
while  they  wait  dinner  for  him.'  I '11  order  up  the  soup,  for 
if  we  wait  any  longer  we  '11  discover  Upton  to  be  the  most 
graceless  vagabond  that  ever  walked." 

"  I  know  his  qualities,  good  and  bad,"  said  Glencore, 
rising,  and  pacing  the  room  with  slow,  uncertain  steps ; 
"  few  men  know  him  better.  None  need  tell  me  of  his 
abilities ;  none  need  instruct  me  as  to  his  faults.  What 
others  do  by  accident,  he  does  by  design.  He  started  in 
life  by  examining  how  much  the  world  would  bear  from 
him;  he  has  gone  on,  profiting  by  the  experience,  and 
improving  on  the  practice." 

"  Well,  if  I  don't  mistake  me  much,  he'll  soon  appear  to 


54         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

plead  his  own  cause.  I  hear  oars  coming  speedily  in  this 
direction." 

And  so  saying,  Harcourt  hurried  away  to  resolve  his 
doubts  at  once.  As  he  reached  the  little  jetty,  over  which 
a  large  signal-fire  threw  a  strong  red  light,  he  perceived  that 
he  was  correct,  and  was  just  in  time  to  grasp  Upton's  hand 
as  he  stepped  on  shore. 

"  How  picturesque  all  this,  Harcourt,"  said  he,  in  his  soft, 
low  voice ;  "a  leaf  out  of  '  Rob  Roy.'  Well,  am  I  not  the 
mirror  of  punctuality,  eh  ?  " 

'*  We  looked  for  you  yesterday,  and  Glencore  has  been  so 
impatient." 

"Of  course  he  has;  it  is  the  vice  of  your  men  who  do 
nothing.  How  is  he?  Does  he  dine  with  us?  Fritz,  take 
care  those  leather  pillows  are  properly  aired,  and  see  that 
my  bath  is  ready  by  ten  o  'clock.  Give  me  your  arm,  Har- 
court ;  what  a  blessing  it  is  to  be  such  a  strong  fellow !  " 

''So  it  is,  by  Jove!  lam  always  thankful  for  it.  And 
you  —  how  do' you  get  on  ?     You  look  well." 

"  Do  I?"  said  he,  faintly,  and  pushing  back  his  hair  with 
an  almost  fine-ladylike  affectation.  "  I  'm  glad  you  say  so. 
It  always  rallies  me  a  little  to  hear  I  'm  better.  You  had 
my  letter  abo^it  the  fish  ?  " 

*'  Ay,  and  I  '11  give  you  such  a  treat." 

''  No,  no,  my  dear  Harcourt ;  a  fried  mackerel,  or  a  whit- 
ing and  a  few  crumbs  of  bread,  —  nothing  more." 

''If  you  insist,  it  shall  be  so;  but  I  promise  you  I'll 
not  be  of  your  mess,  that 's  all.  This  is  a  glorious  spot  for 
turbot  —  and  such  oysters  !  " 

"Oysters  are  forbidden  me,  and  don't  let  me  have  the 
torture  of  temptation.  What  a  charming  place  this  seems  to 
be !  —  very  wild,  very  rugged." 

"  Wild  —  rugged !  I  should  think  it  is,"  muttered  Harcourt. 

"  This  pathway,  though,  does  not  bespeak  much  care.  I 
wish  our  friend  yonder  would  hold  his  lantern  a  little  lower. 
How  I  envy  you  the  kind  of  life  you  lead  here,  —  so  tranquil, 
so  removed  from  all  bores !  By  the  way,  you  get  the  news- 
papers tolerably  regularly  ?  " 

"  Yes,  every  day." 

"That's  all  right.     If  there  be  a  luxury  left  to  any  man 


THE   GREAT   MAN'S  ARRIVAL.  65 

after  the  age  of  forty,  it  is  to  be  let  alone.  It 's  the  best 
thing  I  know  of.  What  a  terrible  bit  of  road !  They  might 
have  made  a  pathway." 

"Come,  don't  grow  faint-hearted.  Here  we  are;  this  is 
Glencore." 

"  Wait  a  moment.  Just  let  him  raise  that  lantern. 
Really  this  is  very  striking  —  a  very  striking  scene  alto- 
gether. The  doorway  excellent,  and  that  little  watch-tower, 
with  its  lone-star  light,  a  perfect  picture." 

"  You  11  have  time  enough  to  admire  all  this  ;  and  we  are 
keeping  poor  Glencore  waiting,"  said  Harcourt,  impatiently. 

"  Very  true ;  so  we  arg." 

"  Glencore's  son,  Upton,"  said  Harcourt,  presenting  the 
boy,  who  stood,  half  pride,  half  bashfulness,  in  the  porch. 

"  My  dear  boy,  you  see  one  of  your  father's  oldest  friends 
in  the  world,"  said  Upton,  throwing  one  arm  on  the  boy's 
shoulder,  apparently  caressing,  but  as  much  to  aid  him- 
self in  ascending  the  stair.  "I'm  charmed  with  your  old 
Schloss  here,  my  dear,"  said  he,  as  they  moved  along. 
"Modern  architects  cannot  attain  the  massive  simplicity  of 
these  structures.  They  have  a  kind  of  confectionery  style 
with  false  ornament,  and  inappropriate  decoration,  that  bears 
about  the  same  relation  to  the  original  that  a  suit  of  Drury 
Lane  tinfoil  does  to  a  coat  of  Milanese  mail  armor.  This 
gallery  is  in  excellent  taste." 

And  as  he  spoke,  the  door  in  front  of  him  opened,  and  the 
pale,  sorrow-struck,  and  sickly  figure  of  Glencore  stood  be- 
fore him.  Upton,  with  all  his  self-command,  could  scarcely 
repress  an  exclamation  at  the  sight  of  one  whom  he  had 
seen  last  in  all  the  pride  of  youth  and  great  personal 
powers;  while  Glencore,  with  the  instinctive  acuteness  of 
his  morbid  temperament,  as  quickly  saw  the  impression  he 
had  produced,  and  said,  with  a  deep  sigh,  — 

"  Ay,  Horace,  a  sad  wreck." 

"  Not  so,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  the  other,  taking  the  thin, 
cold  hand  within  both  his  own;  "as  seaworthy  as  ever, 
after  a  little  dry-docking  and  refitting.  It  is  only  a  craft 
like  that  yonder,"  and  he  pointed  to  Harcourt,  "that  can 
keep  the  sea  in  all  weathers,  and  never  care  for  the  carpen- 
ter.    You  and  I  are  of  another  build." 


66         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"And  you  —  how  are  you?"  asked  Glencore,  relieved  to 
turn  attention  away  from  himself,  while  he  drew  his  arm 
within  the  other's. 

"  The  same  poor  ailing  mortal  you  always  knew  me,"  said 
Upton,  languidly;  "doomed  to  a  life  of  uncongenial  labor, 
condemned  to  climates  totally  unsuited  to  me,  I  drag  along 
existence,  only  astonished  at  the  trouble  I  take  to  live,  know- 
ing pretty  well  as  I  do  what  life  is  worth." 

' ' '  Jolly  companions  every  one  ! '  By  Jove  !  "  said  Har- 
court,  "  for  a  pair  of  fellows  who  were  born  on  the  sunny 
side  of  the  road,  I  must  say  you  are  marvellous  instances  of 
gratitude." 

"That  excellent  hippopotamus,"  said  Upton,  "has  no 
thought  for  any  calamity  if  it  does  not  derange  his  digestion ! 
How  glad  I  am  to  see  the  soup  !  Now,  Glencore,  you  shall 
witness  no  invalid's  appetite." 

As  the  dinner  proceeded,  the  tone  of  the  conversation 
grew  gradually  lighter  and  pleasanter.  Upton  had  only  to 
permit  his  powers  to  take  their  free  course  to  be  agreeable, 
and  now  talked  away  on  whatever  came  uppermost,  with  a 
charming  union  of  reflectiveness  and  repartee.  If  a  very 
rigid  purist  might  take  occasional  Gallicisms  in  expression, 
and  a  constant  leaning  to  French  modes  of  thought,  none 
could  fail  to  be  delighted  with  the  graceful  ease  with  which 
he  wandered  from  theme  to  theme,  adorning  each  with  some 
trait  of  that  originality  which  was  his  chief  characteristic. 
Harcourt  was  pleased  without  well  knowing  how  or  why, 
while  to  Glencore  it  brought  back  the  memory  of  the  days 
of  happy  intercourse  with  the  world,  and  all  the  brilliant 
hours  of  that  polished  circle  in  which  he  had  lived.  To  the 
pleasure,  then,  which  his  powers  conferred,  there  succeeded 
an  impression  of  deep  melancholy,  so  deep  as  to  attract  the 
notice  of  Harcourt,  who  hastily  asked,  — 

"If  he  felt  ill?" 

"Not  worse,"  said  he,  faintly,  "  but  weak — weary;  and 
I  know  Upton  will  forgive  me  if  I  say  good-night." 

"What  a  wreck  indeed!"  exclaimed  Upton,  as  Glen- 
core left  the  room  with  his  son.  "I'd  not  have  known 
him." 

"  And  yet  until  the  last  half -hour  I  have  not  seen  him  so 


% 


THE  GREAT  MAN'S  ARRIVAL.  57 

well  for  weeks  past.  I  'm  afraid  something  you  said  about 
Alicia  Villars  affected  him,"  said  Harcourt. 

'*My  dear  Harcourt,  how  young  you  are  in  all  these 
things,"  said  Upton,  as  he  lighted  his  cigarette.  "  A  poor 
heart-stricken  fellow,  like  Glencore,  no  more  cares  for  what 
you  would  think  a  painful  allusion,  than  an  old  weather- 
beaten  sailor  would  for  a  breezy  morning  on  the  Downs  at 
Brighton.  His  own  sorrows  lie  too  deeply  moored  to  be 
disturbed  by  the  light  winds  that  ruffle  the  surface.  And 
to  think  that  all  this  is  a  woman's  doing !  Is  n't  that  what's 
passing  in  your  mind,  eh,  most  gallant  Colonel?" 

"  By  Jove,  and  so  it  was !  They  were  the  very  words  I 
was  on  the  point  of  uttering,"  said  Harcourt,  half  nettled  at 
the  ease  with  which  the  other  read  him. 

''And  of  course  you  understand  the  source  of  the 
sorrow  ?  " 

''I'm  not  quite  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Harcourt,  more  and 
more  piqued  at  the  tone  of  bantering  superiority  with  which 
the  other  spoke. 

"Yes,  you  do,  Harcourt;  I  know  you  better  than  you 
know  yourself.  Your  thoughts  were  these  :  Here  's  a  fellow 
with  a  title,  a  good  name,  good  looks,  and  a  fine  fortune, 
going  out  of  the  world  of  a  broken  heart,  and  all  for  a 
woman !  " 

"You  knew  her,"  said  Harcourt,  anxious  to  divert  the 
discussion  from  himself. 

"  Intimately.  Ninetta  della  Torre  was  the  belle  of  Flor- 
ence —  what  am  I  saying  ?  of  all  Italy  —  when  Glencore  met 
her,  about  eighteen  years  ago.  The  Palazzo  della  Torre 
was  the  best  house  in  Florence.  The  old  Prince,  her  grand- 
father, —  her  father  was  killed  in  the  Russian  campaign,  — 
was  spending  the  last  remnant  of  an  immense  fortune  in 
every  species  of  extravagance.  Entertainments  that  siu*- 
passed  those  of  the  Pitti  Palace  in  splendor,  fetes  that  cost 
fabulous  sums,  banquets  voluptuous  as  those  of  ancient 
Rome,  were  things  of  weekly  occurrence.  Of  course  every 
foreigner,  with  any  pretension  to  distinction,  sought  to  be 
presented  there,  and  we  English  happened  just  at  that 
moment  to  stand  tolerably  high  in  Italian  estimation.  I  am 
speaking  of  some  eighteen  or  twenty  years  back,  before  we 

I..      ^^  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

CF 


58         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

sent  out  that  swarm  of  domestic  economists  who,  under  the 
somewhat  erroneous  notion  of  foreign  cheapness,  by  a  sys- 
tem of  incessant  higgle  and  bargain,  cutting  down  every 
one's  demand  to  the  measure  of  their  own  pockets,  end  by 
making  the  word  '  Englishman '  a  synonym  for  all  that  is 
mean,  shabby,  and  contemptible.  The  English  of  that  day 
were  of  another  class ;  and  assuredly  their  characteristics, 
as  regards  munificence  and  high  dealing,  must  have  been 
strongly  impressed  upon  the  minds  of  foreigners,  seeing  how 
their  successors,  very  different  people,  have  contrived  to 
trade  upon  the  mere  memory  of  these  qualities  ever  since." 

"Which  all  means  that  'my  lord'  stood  cheating  better 
than  those  who  came  after  him,"  said  Harcourt,  bluntly. 

"He  did  so;  and  precisely  for  that  very  reason  he  con- 
veyed the  notion  of  a  people  who  do  not  place  money  in 
the  first  rank  of  all  their  speculations,  and  who  aspire  to 
no  luxury  that  they  have  not  a  just  right  to  enjoy.  But 
to  come  back  to  Glencore.  He  soon  became  a  favored  guest 
at  the  Palazzo  della  Torre.  His  rank,  name,  and  station, 
combined  with  very  remarkable  personal  qualities,  obtained 
for  him  a  high  place  in  the  old  Prince's  favor,  and  Ninetta 
deigned  to  accord  him  a  little  more  notice  than  she  bestowed 
on  any  one  else.  I  have,  in  the  course  of  my  career,  had 
occasion  to  obtain  a  near  view  of  royal  personages  and  their 
habits,  and  I  can  say  with  certainty  that  never  in  any 
station,  no  matter  how  exalted,  have  I  seen  as  haughty  a 
spirit  as  in  that  girl.  To  the  pride  of  her  birth,  rank,  and 
splendid  mode  of  life  were  added  the  consciousness  of  her 
surpassing  beauty,  and  the  graceful  charm  of  a  manner  quite 
unequalled.  She  was  incomparably  superior  to  all  around 
her,  and,  strangely  enough,  she  did  not  offend  by  the  bold 
assertion  of  this  superiority.  It  seemed  her  due,  and  no 
more.  Nor  was  it  the  assumption  of  mere  flattered  beauty. 
Her  house  was  the  resort  of  persons  of  the  very  highest 
station,  and  in  the  midst  of  them  —  some  even  of  royal 
blood  —  she  exacted  all  the  deference  and  all  the  homage 
that  she  required  from  others." 

"And  they  accorded  it?"  asked  Harcourt,  half  con- 
temptuously. 

"They   did;    and  so  had  you  also  if  you  had  been  in 


THE  GREAT  MAN'S  ARRIVAL.  59 

their  place !  Believe  me,  most  gallant  Colonel,  there  is 
a  wide  difference  between  the  empty  pretension  of  mere 
vanity  and  the  daring  assumption  of  conscious  power.  This 
girl  saw  the  influence  she  wielded.  As  she  moved  amongst 
us  she  beheld  the  homage,  not  always  willing,  that  awaited 
her.  She  felt  that  she  had  but  to  distinguish  any  one  man 
there,  and  he  became  for  the  time  as  illustrious  as  though 
touched  by  the  sword  or  ennobled  by  tfie  star  of  his  sovereign. 
The  courtier-like  attitude  of  men,  in  the  presence  of  a  very 
beautiful  woman,  is  a  spectacle  full  of  interest.  In  the 
homage  vouchsafed  to  mere  rank  there  enters  always  a  sense 
of  humiliation,  and  in  the  observances  of  respect  men  tender 
to  royalty,  the  idea  of  vassalage  presents  itself  most  prom- 
inently ;  whereas  in  the  other  case,  the  chivalrous  devotion  is 
not  alloyed  by  this  meaner  servitude,  and  riien  never  lift 
their  heads  more  haughtily  than  after  they  have  bowed  them 
in  lowly  deference  to  loveliness." 

A  thick,  short  snort  from  Harcourt  here  startled  the 
speaker,  who,  inspired  by  the  sounds  of  his  own  voice  and 
the  flowing  periods  he  uttered,  had  fallen  into  -one  of  those 
paroxysms  of  loquacity  which  now  and  then  befell  him. 
That  his  audience  should  have  thought  him  tiresome  or 
prosy,  would,  indeed,  have  seemed  to  him  something  strange ; 
but  that  his  hearer  should  have  gone  off  asleep,  was  almost' 
incredible. 

"It  is  quite  true,"  said  Upton  to  himself ;  "he  snores 
'  like  a  warrior  taking  his  rest.'  What  wonderful  gifts 
some  fellows  are  endowed  with!  and,  to  enjoy  life,  there 
is  none  of  them  all  like  dulness.  Can  you  show  me  to 
my  room?"  said  he,  as  Craggs  answered  his  ring  at  the 
bell. 

The  Corporal  bowed  an  assent. 

"The  Colonel  usually  retires  early,  I  suppose?"  said 
Upton. 

"Yes,  sir ;  at  ten  to  a  minute." 

"  Ah !  it  is  one  —  nearly  half-past  one  —  now,  I  perceive," 
said  he,  looking  at  his  watch.  "That  accounts  for  his 
drowsiness,"  muttered  he,  between  his  teeth.  "Curious 
vegetables  are  these  old  campaigners.  Wish  him  good  night 
for  me  when  he  awakes,  will  you  ?  " 


60         THE  EOKTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

And  SO  saying,  he  proceeded  on  his  way,  with  all  that 
lassitude  and  exhaustion  which  it  was  his  custom  to  throw 
into  every  act  which  demanded  the  slightest  exertion. 

"Any  more  stairs  to  mount,  Mr.  Craggs?"  said  he,  with 
a  bland  but  sickly  smile. 

"Yes,  sir;  two  flights  more." 

"Oh,  dear!  couldn't  you  have  disposed  of  me  on  the 
lower  floor?  —  I  don't  care  where  or  how,  but  something 
that  requires  no  climbing.  It  matters  little,  however,  for 
I'm  only  here   for  a  day." 

"  We  could  fit  up  a  small  room,  sir,  off  the  library." 

"  Do  so,  then.  A  most  humane  thought;  for  if  I  should 
remain  another  night  —  Not  at  it  yet  ?  "  cried  he,  peevishly, 
at  the  aspect  of  an  almost  perpendicular  stair  before  him. 

' '  This  is  the  last  flight,  sir ;  and  you  '11  have  a  splendid 
view  for  your  trouble,  when  you  awake  in  the  morning." 

' '  There  is  no  view  ever  repaid  the  toil  of  an  ascent,  Mr. 
Craggs,  whether  it  be  to  an  attic  or  the  Kighi.  Would  you 
kindly  tell  my  servant,  Mr.  Schofer,  where  to  find  me,  and 
let  him  fetch  the  pillows,  and  put  a  little  rosemary  in  a  glass 
of  water  in  the  room,  —  it  corrects  the  odor  of  the  night- 
lamp.  And  I  should  like  my  coffee  early,  —  say  at  seven, 
though  I  don't  wish  to  be  disturbed  afterwards.  Thank  you, 
Mr.  Craggs, — good-night.  Oh!  one  thing  more.  You  have 
a  doctor  here  :  would  you  just  mention  to  him  that  I  should 
like  to  see  him  to-morrow  about  nine  or  half-past?  Good 
night,  good  night." 

And  with  a  smile  worthy  of  bestowal  upon  a  court  beauty, 
and  a  gentle  inclination  of  the  head,  the  very  ideal  of 
gracefulness,  Sir  Horace  dismissed  Mr.  Craggs,  and  closed 
the  door. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A   MEDICAL   VISIT. 

Mr.  Schofer  moved  through  the  dimly  lighted  chamber  with 
all  the  cat-like  stealthiness  of  an  accomplished  valet,  arran- 
ging the  various  articles  of  his  master's  wardrobe,  and  giv- 
ing, so  far  as  he  was  able,  the  semblance  of  an  accustomed 
spot  to  this  new  and  strange  locality.  Already,  indeed,  it 
was  very  unlike  what  it  had  been  during  Harcourt's  occupa- 
tion. Guns,  whips,.fishing-tackle,  dog-leashes,  and  landing- 
nets  had  all  disappeared,  as  well  as  uncouth  specimens  of 
costume  for  boating  or  the  chase ;  and  in  their  place  were 
displayed  all  the  accessories  of  an  elaborate  toilet,  laid  out 
with  a  degree  of  pomp  and  ostentation  somewhat  in  contrast 
to  the  place.  A  richly  embroidered  dressing-gown  lay  on 
the  back  of  a  chair,  before  which  stood  a  pair  of  velvet 
slippers  worked  in  gold.  On  the  table  in  front  of  these,  a 
whole  regiment  of  bottles,  of  varied  shape  and  color,  were 
ranged,  the  contents  being  curious  essences  and  delicate 
odors,  every  one  of  which  entered  into  some  peculiar  stage 
of  that  elaborate  process  Sir  Horace  Upton  went  through, 
each  morning  of  his  life,  as  a  preparation  for  the  toils  of  the 
day. 

Adjoining  the  bed  stood  a  smaller  table,  covered  with 
various  medicaments,  tinctures,  essences,  infusions,  and  ex- 
tracts, whose  subtle  qualities  he  was  well  skilled  in,  and  but 
for  whose  timely  assistance  he  would  not  have  believed  him- 
self capable  of  surviving  throughout  the  day.  Beside  these 
was  a  bulky  file  of  prescriptions,  the  learned  documents  of 
doctors  of  every  country  of  Europe,  all  of  whom  had  en- 
joyed their  little  sunshine  of  favor,  and  all  of  whom  had 
ended  by  "  mistaking  his  case."  These  had  now  been  placed 
in  readiness  for  the  approaching  consultation  with  "Glen- 


62         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

core's  doctor ;  "  and  Mr.  Schof er  still  glided  noiselessly  from 
place  to  place,  preparing  for  that  event. 

"I'm  not  asleep,  Fritz,"  said  a  weak,  plaintive  voice 
from  the  bed.  "Let  me  have  my  aconite,  —  eighteen 
drops;  a  full  dose  to-day,  for  this  journey  has  brought 
back  the  pains." 

"Yes,  Excellenz,"  said  Fritz,  in  a  voice  of  broken  ac- 
centuation. 

"I  slept  badly,"  continued  his  master,  in  the  same  com- 
plaining tone.  "  The  sea  beat  so  heavily  against  the  rocks, 
and  the  eternal  plash,  plash,  all  night  irritated  and  worried 
me.     Are  you  giving  me  the'right  tincture?  " 

"Yes,  Excellenz,"  was  the  brief  reply. 

"  You  have  seen  the  doctor,  — what  is  he  like,  Fritz? " 

A  strange  grimace  and  a  shi'ug  of  the  shoulders  were  Mr. 
Schofer's  only  answer. 

"I  thought  as  much,"  said  Upton,  with  a  heavy  sigh. 
"They  called  him  the  wild  growth  of  the  mountains  last 
night,  and  I  fancied  what  that  was  like  to  prove.  Is  he 
young?" 

A  shake  of  the  head  implied  not. 

"Nor  old?" 

Another  similar  movement  answered  the  question. 

"  Give  me  a  comb,  Fritz,  and  fetch  the  glass  here."  And 
now  Sir  Horace  arranged  his  silky  hair  more  becomingly,  and 
having  exchanged  one  or  two  smiles  with  his  image  in  the 
mirror,  lay  back  on  the  pillow,  saying,  "Tell  him  I  am 
ready  to  see  him." 

Mr.  Schofer  proceeded  to  the  door,  and  at  once  presented 
the  obsequious  figure  of  Billy  Traynor,  who,  having  heard 
some  details  of  the  rank  and  quality  of  his  new  patient, 
made  his  approaches  with  a  most  deferential  humility.  It 
was  true,  Billy  knew  that  my  Lord  Glencore's  rank  was 
above  that  of  Sir  Horace,  but  to  his  eyes  there  was  the  far 
higher  distinction  of  a  man  of  undoubted  ability,  —  a  great 
speaker,  a  great  writer,  a  great  diplomatist;  and  Billy 
Traynor,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  found  himself  in  the 
presence  of  one  whose  claims  to  distinction  stood  upon  the 
lofty  basis  of  personal  superiority.  Now,  though  bashful- 
ness  was  not  the  chief  characteristic  of  his  nature,  he  really 


A  MEDICAL  VISIT.  63 

felt  abashed  and  timid  as  he  drew  near  the  bed,  and  shrank 
under  the  quick  but  searching  glance  of  the  sick  man's  cold 
gray  eyes. 

"Place  a  chair,  and  leave  us,  Fritz,"  said  Sir  Horace; 
and  then,  turning  slowly  round,  smiled  as  he  said,  "I'm 
happy  to  make  your  acquaintance,  sir.  My  friend.  Lord 
Glencore,  has  told  me  with  what  skill  you  treated  him,  and 
I  embrace  the  fortunate  occasion  to  profit  by  your  profes- 
sional ability." 

"I'm  your  humble  slave,  sir,"  said  Billy,  with  a  deep, 
rich  brogue ;  and  the  manner  of  the  speaker,  and  his  accent, 
seemed  so  to  surprise  Upton  that  he  continued  to  stare  at 
him  fixedly  for  some  seconds  without  speaking. 

"You  studied  in  Scotland,  I  believe?"  said  he,  with  one 
of  the  most  engaging  smiles,  while  he  hazarded  the  question. 

"  Indeed,  then,  I  did  not,  sir,"  said  Billy,  with  a  heavy 
sigh;  "all  I  know  of  the  ars  medicdtrix  I  picked  up, — 
currendo  per  campos,  —  as  one  may  say,  vagabondizing 
through  life,  and  watching  my  opportunities.  Nature  gave 
me  the  Hippocratic  turn,  and  I  did  my  best  to  improve  it." 

"  So  that  you  never  took  out  a  regular  diploma?  "  said  Sir 
Horace,  with  another  and  still  blander  smile. 

"  Sorra  one,  sir !  I  'm  a  doctor  just  as  a  man  is  a  poet,  — 
by  sheer  janius !  'T  is  the  study  of  nature  makes  both  one 
and  the  other ;  that  is,  when  there  's  the  raal  stuff,  —  the 
divinus  afflatus,  —  inside.  Without  you  have  that,  you  're 
only  a  rhymester  or  a  quack." 

"You  would,  then,  trace  a  parallel  between  them?"  said 
Upton,  graciously. 

"  To  be  sure,  sir !  Ould  Heyric  says  that  the  poet  and  the 
physician  is  one :  — 

"  *  For  he  who  reads  the  clouded  skies, 
And  knows  the  utterings  of  the  deep, 
Can  surely  see  in  human  eyes 

The  sorrows  that  so  heart-locked  sleep.* 

The  human  system  is  just  a  kind  of  universe  of  its  own; 
and  the  very  same  faculties  that  investigate  the  laws  of 
nature  in  one  case  is  good  in  the  other." 

"  I  don't  think  the  author  of  '  King  Arthur'  supports  your 
theory,"  said  Upton,  gently. 


64  THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"Blackmoor  was  an  ass;  but  maybe  he  was  as  great  a 
bosthoon  in  physic  as  in  poetry,"  rejoined  Billy,  promptly. 

"  Well,  Doctor,"  said  Sir  Horace,  with  one  of  those  plain- 
tive sighs  in  which  he  habitually  opened  the  narrative  of  his 
own  suffering,  ''let  us  descend  to  meaner  things,  and  talk 
of  myself.  You  see  before  you  one  who,  in  some  degree,  is 
the  reproach  of  medicine.  That  file  of  prescriptions  beside 
you  will  show  that  I  have  consulted  almost  every  celebrity 
in  Europe ;  and  that  I  have  done  so  unsuccessfully,  it  is  only 
necessary  that  you  should  look  on  these  worn  looks  —  these 
wasted  fingers  —  this  sickly,  feeble  frame.  Vouchsafe  me  a 
patient  hearing  for  a  few  moments,  while  I  give  you  some 
insight  into  one  of  the  most  intricate  cases,  perhaps,  that 
has  ever  engaged  the  faculty." 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  follow  Sir  Horace  through  his 
statement,  which  in  reality  comprised  a  sketch  of  half  the 
ills  that  the  flesh  is  heir  to.  Maladies  of  heart,  brain,  liver, 
lungs,  the  nerves,  the  arteries,  even  the  bones,  contributed 
their  aid  to  swell  the  dreary  catalogue,  which,  indeed,  con- 
tained the  usual  contradictions  and  exaggerations  incidental 
to  such  histories.  We  could  not  assuredly  expect  from 
our  reader  the  patient  attention  with  which  Billy  listened  to 
this  narrative.  Never  by  a  word  did  he  interrupt  the  de- 
scription ;  not  even  a  syllable  escaped  him  as  he  sat ;  and 
even  when  Sir  Horace  had  finished  speaking,  he  remained 
with  slightly  drooped  head  and  clasped  hands  in  deep 
meditation. 

"  It 's  a  strange  thing,"  said  he,  at  last ;  "  but  the  more  I 
see  of  the  aristocracy,  the  more  I  'm  convinced  that  they 
ought  to  have  doctors  for  themselves  alone,  just  as  they 
have  their  own  tailors  and  coachmakers,  —  chaps  that  could 
devote  themselves  to  the  study  of  physic  for  the  peerage, 
and  never  think  of  any  other  disorders  but  them  that  befall 
people  of  rank.  Your  mistake.  Sir  Horace,  was  in  consult- 
ing the  regular  middle-class  practitioner,  who  invariably 
imagined  there  must  be  a  disease  to  treat." 

''And  you  set  me  down  as  a  hypochondriac,  then,"  said 
Upton,  smiling. 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind !  You  have  a  malady,  sure  enough, 
but   nothing   organic.      'T  is  the  oceans   of   tinctures,    the 


A   MEDICAL  VISIT.  66 

sieves  full  of  pills,  the  quarter-casks  of  bitters  you  're  takin', 
has  played  the  divil  with  you.  The  human  machine  is  like 
a  clock,  and  it  depends  on  the  proportion  the  parts  bear  to 
each  other,  whether  it  keeps  time.  You  may  make  the 
spring  too  strong,  or  the  chain  too  thick,  or  the  balance  too 
heavy  for  the  rest  of  the  works,  and  spoil  everything  just  by 
over  security.  That's  what  your  doctors  was  doing  with 
their  tonics  and  cordials.  They  didn't  see,  here's  a  poor 
washy  frame,  with  a  wake  circulation  and  no  vigor.  If  we 
nourish  him,  his  heart  will  go  quicker,  to  be  sure ;  but  what 
will  his  brain  be  at  ?  There 's  the  rub !  His  brain  will 
begin  to  go  fast  too,  and  already  it 's  going  the  pace.  'T  is 
soothin'  and  calmin'  you  want;  allaying  the  irritability  of 
an  irrascible,  fretful  nature,  always  on  the  watch  for  self- 
torment.  Say-bathin',  early  hours,  a  quiet  mopin'  kind  of 
life,  that  would,  maybe,  tend  to  torpor  and  sleepiness,  — 
them 's  the  first  things  you  need ;  and  for  exercise,  a  little 
work  in  the  garden  that  you  'd  take  interest  in." 

"  And  no  physic?  "  asked  Sir  Horace. 

' '  Sorra  screed !  not  as  much  as  a  powder  or  a  draught, 
—  barrin',"  said  he,  suddenly  catching  the  altered  expres- 
sion of  the  sick  man's  face,  *'  a  little  mixture  of  hyoscya- 
mus  I  '11  compound  for  you  myself.  This,  and  friction  over 
the  region  of  the  heart,  with  a  mild  embrocation,  is  all  my 
tratement !  " 

''And  you  have  hopes  of  my  recovery?"  asked  Sir 
Horace,  faintly. 

"  My  name  isn't  Billy  Traynor  if  I'd  not  send  you  out 
of  this  hale  and  hearty  before  two  months.  I  read  you  like 
a  printed  book." 

''  You  really  give  me  great  confidence,  for  I  perceive  you 
understand  the  tone  of  my  temperament.  Let  us  try  this 
same  embrocation  at  once ;  I  '11  most  implicitly  obey  you 
in  everything." 

"My  head  on  a  block,  then,  but  I'll  cure  you,"  said 
Billy,  who  determined  that  no  scruples  on  his  side  should 
mar  the  trust  reposed  in  him  by  the  patient.  "But  you 
must  give  yourself  entirely  up  to  me ;  not  only  as  to  your 
eatin'  and  drinkin',  but  your  hours  of  recreation  and  study, 
exercise,  amusement,  and  all^  must  be  at  my  biddiu'.     It  is 

5 


66  THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

the  principle  of  harmony  between  the  moral  and  physical 
nature  constitutes  the  whole  sacret  of  my  system.  To  be 
stimulatin'  the  nerves,  and  lavin'  the  arteries  dormant,  is 
like  playing  a  jig  to  minuet  time,  —  all  must  move  in  simul- 
taneous action ;  and  the  cerebellum,  the  great  flywheel  of 
the  whole,  must  be  made  to  keep  orderly  time.  D  'ye 
mind?" 

*'I  follow  you  with  great  interest,"  said  Sir  Horace,  to 
whose  subtle  nature  there  was  an  intense  pleasure  in  the 
thought  of  having  discovered  what  he  deemed  a  man  of 
original  genius  under  this  unpromising  exterior.  ''  There  is 
but  one  bar  to  these  arrangements :  I  must  leave  this  at 
once  ;  I  ought  to  go  to-day.     I  must  be  off  to-morrow." 

''Then  I'll  not  take  the  helm  when  I  can't  pilot  you 
through  the  shoals,"  said  Billy.  "To  begin  my  system, 
and  see  you  go  away  before  I  developed  my  grand  invigo- 
ratin'  arcanum,  would  be  only  to  destroy  your  confidence  in 
an  elegant  discovery." 

"Were  I  only  as  certain  as  you  seem  to  be "  began 

Sir  Horace,  and  then  stopped. 

"  You'd  stay  and  be  cured,  you  were  goin'  to  say.  Well, 
if  you  did  n't  feel  that  same  trust  in  me,  you  'd  be  right  to 
go ;  for  it  is  that  very  confidence  that  turns  the  balance. 
Ould  Babbington  used  to  say  that  between  a  good  physician 
and  a  bad  one  there  was  just  the  difference  between  a  pound 
and  a  guinea.  But  between  the  one  you  trust  and  the  one 
you  don't,  there's  all  the  way  between  Billy  Traynor  and 
the  Bank  of  Ireland  !  " 

"  On  that  score  every  advantage  is  with  you,"  said  Upton, 
with  all  the  winning  grace  of  his  incomparable  manner; 
"  and  I  must  now  bethink  me  how  I  can  manage  to  prolong 
my  stay  here."  And  with  this  he  fell  into  a  musing  fit,  let- 
ting drop  occasionally  some  stray  word  or  two,  to  mark  the 
current  of  his  thoughts :  ' '  The  Duke  of  Headwater's  on 
the  thirteenth ;  Ardroath  Castle  the  Tuesday  after ;  More- 
hampton  for  the  Derby  day.  These  easily  disposed  of. 
Prince  Boratinsky,  about  that  Warsaw  affair,  must  be  at- 
tended to;  a  letter,  yes,  a  letter,  will  keep  that  question 
open.  Lady  Grencliffe  is  a  difficulty;  if  I  plead  illness, 
she  '11  say  I  'm  not  strong  enough  to  go  to  Russia.     I  '11  think 


A  MEDICAL  VISIT.  67 

it  over."  And  with  this  he  rested  his  head  on  his  hands, 
and  sank  into  profound  reflection.  ^'  Yes,  Doctor,'*  said  he, 
at  length,  as  though  summing  up  his  secret  calculations, 
"health  is  the  first  requisite.  If  you  can  but  restore  me, 
you  will  be  —  I  am  above  the  mere  personal  consideration 
—  you  will  be  the  means  of  conferring  an  important  service 
on  the  King's  Government.  A  variety  of  questions,  some 
of  them  deep  and  intricate,  are  now  pending,  of  which  I 
alone  understand  the  secret  meaning.  A  new  hand  would 
infallibly  spoil  the  game ;  and  yet,  in  my  present  condition, 
how  could  I  hear  the  fatigues  of  long  interviews,  minis- 
terial deliberations,  incessant  note-writing,  and  evasive 
conversations  ?  " 

"  Utterly  unpossible !  "  exclaimed  the  doctor. 

"As  you  observe,  it  is  utterly  impossible,"  rejoined  Sir 
Horace,  with  one  of  his  own  dubious  smiles ;  and  then,  in 
a  manner  more  natural,  resumed:  "We  public  men  have 
the  sad  necessity  of  concealing  the  sufferings  on  which  others 
trade  for  sympathy.  We  must  never  confess  to  an  ache  or  a 
pain,  lest  it  be  rumored  that  we  are  unequal  to  the  fatigues 
of  office ;  and  so  is  it  that  we  are  condemned  to  run  the  race 
with  broken  health  and  shattered  frame,  alleging  all  the 
while  that  no  exertion  is  too  much,  no  effort  too  great  for. 
us." 

"  And  maybe,  after  all,  it's  that  very  struggle  that  makes 
you  more  than  common  men,"  said  Billy.  "  There's  a  kind 
of  irritability  that  keeps  the  brain  at  stretch,  and  renders  it 
equal  to  higher  efforts  than  ever  accompany  good  every- 
day health.  Dyspepsia  is  the  soul  of  a  prose-writer,  and  a 
slight  ossification  of  the  aortic  valves  is  a  great  help  to  the 
imagination." 

"  Do  you  really  say  so?"  asked  Sir  Horace,  with  all  the 
implicit  confidence  with  which  he  accepted  any  marvel  that 
had  its  origin  in  medicine. 

"Don't  you  feel  it  yourself ,  sir?"  asked  Billy.  "  Do  you 
ever  pen  a  reply  to  a  knotty  state-paper  as  nately  as  when 
you've  the  heartburn?  —  are  you  ever  as  epigrammatic  as 
when  you're  driven  to  a  listen  slipper? —  and  when  do  you 
give  a  minister  a  jobation  as  purtily  as  when  you  are  laborin' 
under  a  slight  indigestion  ?     Not  that  it  would  sarve  a  man 


68         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

to  be  permanently  in  gout  or  the  colic ;  but  for  a  spurt  like 
a  cavalry  charge,  there 's  nothing  like  eatin'  something  that 
disagrees  with  you." 

"An  ingenious  notion,"  said  the  diplomatist,  smiling. 

*' And  now  I'll  take  my  lave,"  said  Billy,  rising.  "I'm 
going  out  to  gather  some  mountain-colchicum  and  sorrel, 
to  make  a  diaphoretic  infusion;  and  I've  to  give  Master 
Charles  his  Greek  lesson ;  and  blister  the  colt,  —  he 's  thrown 
out  a  bone  spavin;  and,  after  that.  Handy  Carr's  daughter 
has  the  shakin'  ague,  and  the  smith  at  the  forge  is  to  be  bled, 
—  all  before  two  o  'olock,  when  '  the  lord '  sends  for  me.  But 
the  rest  of  the  day,  and  the  night  too,  I'm  your  honor's 
obaydient." 

And  with  a  low  bow,  repeated  in  a  more  reverential  man- 
ner at  the  door,  BiUy  took  his  leave  and  retired. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  DISCLOSURE. 

"Have  you  seen  Upton?"  asked  Glencore  eagerly  of 
Harcourt  as  he  entered  his  bedroom. 

"Yes;  he  vouchsafed  me  an  audience  during  his  toilet, 
just  as  the  old  kings  of  France  were  accustomed  to  honor  a 
favorite  with  one." 

"  And  is  he  full  of  miseries  at  the  dreary  place,  the  rough 
fare  and  deplorable  resources  of  this  wild  spot?" 

"Quite  the  reverse;  he  is  charmed  with  everything  and 
everybody.  The  view  from  his  window  is  glorious ;  the  air 
has  already  invigorated  him.  For  years  he  has  not  break- 
fasted with  the  same  appetite ;  and  he  finds  that  of  all  the 
places  he  has  ever  chanced  upon,  this  is  the  one  veritable 
exact  spot  which  suits  him." 

"  This  is  very  kind  on  his  part,"  said  Glencore,  with  a 
faint  smile.  "  Will  the  humor  last,  Harcourt?  That  is  the 
question." 

' '  I  trust  it  will,  —  at  least  it  may  well  endure  for  the  short 
period  he  means  to  stay ;  although  already  he  has  extended 
that,  and  intends  remaining  till  next  week." 

"Better  still,"  said  Glencore,  with  more  animation  of 
voice  and  manner.  "  I  was  already  growing  nervous  about 
the  brief  space  in  which  I  was  to  crowd  in  all  that  I  want  to 
say  to  him ;  but  if  he  will  consent  to  wait  a  day  or  two,  I 
hope  I  shall  be  equal  to  it." 

"  In  his  present  mood  there  is  no  impatience  to  be  off ;  on 
the  contrary,  he  has  been  inquiring  as  to  all  the  available 
means  of  locomotion,  and  by  what  convenience  he  is  to  make 
various  sea  and  land  excursions." 

"We  have  no  carriage,  —  we  have  no  roads,  even,"  said 
Glencore,  peevishly. 


70         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

' '  He  knows  all  that ;  but  he  is  concerting  measures  about 
a  certain  turf-kish,  I  think  they  call  it,  which,  by  the  aid  of 
pillows  to  lie  on,  and  donkeys  to  drag,  can  be  made  a  most 
useful  vehicle ;  while,  for  longer  excursions,  he  has  sug- 
gested a  '  conveniency '  of  wheels  and  axles  to  the  punt, 
rendering  it  equally  eligible  on  land  or  water.  Then  he  has 
been  designing  great  improvements  in  horticulture,  and  giv- 
ing orders  about  a  rake,  a  spade,  and  a  hoe  for  himself. 
I  'm  quite  serious,"  said  Harcourt,  as  Glencore  smiled  with  a 
kind  of  droll  incredulity.  "It  is  perfectly  true;  and  as  he 
hears  that  the  messenger  occasionally  crosses  the  lough  to 
the  post,  when  there  are  no  letters  there,  he  hints  at  a 
little  simple  telegraph  for  Leenane,  which  should  announce 
what  the  mail  contains,  and  which  might  be  made  useful  to 
convey  other  intelligence.  In  fact,  all  my  changes  here  will 
be  as  for  nothing  to  his  reforms,  and  between  us  you  '11  not 
know  your  own  house  again,  if  you  even  be  able  to  live 
in  it." 

"  You  have  already  done  much  to  make  it  more  habitable, 
Harcourt,"  said  Glencore,  feelingly;  "and  if  I  had  not  the 
grace  to  thank  you  for  it,  I  'm  not  the  less  grateful.  To  say 
truth,  my  old  friend,  I  half  doubted  whether  it  was  an  act 
of  friendship  to  attach  me  ever  so  lightly  to  a  life  of  which 
I  am  well  weary.  Ceasing  as  I  have  done  for  years  back  to 
feel  interest  in  anything,  I  dread  whatever  may  again  recall 
me  to  the  world  of  hopes  and  fears,  —  that  agitated  sea  of 
passion  wherein  I  have  no  longer  vigor  to  contend.  To 
speak  to  me,  then,  of  plans  to  carry  out,  schemes  to  accom- 
plish, was  to  point  to  a  future  of  activity  and  exertion ;  and 
I "  —  here  he  dropped  his  voice  to  a  deep  and  mournful 
tone  —  "can  have  but  one  future,  —  the  dark  and  dreary 
one  before  the  grave ! " 

Harcourt  was  too  deeply  impressed  by  the  solemnity  of 
these  words  to  venture  on  a  reply,  and  he  sat  silently  con- 
templating the  sorrow-struck  but  placid  features  of  the  sick 
man. 

' '  There  is  nothing  to  prevent  a  man  struggling,  and  suc- 
cessfully too,  against  mere  adverse  fortune,"  continued 
Glencore.  "  I  feel  at  times  that  if  I  had  been  suddenly 
reduced  to  actual  beggary,  —  left  without  a  shilling  in  the 


A  DISCLOSURE.  71 

world,  —  there  are  many  ways  in  which  I  could  eke  out 
subsistence.  "  A  great  defeat  to  my  personal  ambition  I 
could  resist.  The  casualty  that  should  exclude  me  from  a 
proud  position  and  public  life,  I  could  bear  up  against  with 
patience,  and  I  hope  with  dignity.  Loss  of  fortune,  loss 
of  influence,  loss  of  station,  loss  of  health  even,  dearer 
than  them  all,  can  be  borne.  There  is  but  one  intolerable 
ill,  one  that  no  time  alleviates,  no  casuistry  diminishes,  — 
loss  of  honor !  Ay,  Harcourt,  rank  and  riches  do  little  for 
him  who  feels  himself  the  inferior  of  the  meanest  that  elbows 
him  in  a  crowd ;  and  the  man  whose  name  is  a  scoff  and  a 
jibe  has  but  one  part  to  fill,  — to  make  himself  forgotten." 

' '  I  hope  I  'm  not  deficient  in  a  sense  of  personal  honor, 
Glencore,"  said  Harcourt;  "but  I  must  say  that  I  think 
your  reasoning  on  this  point  is  untenable  and  wrong." 

"  Let  us  not  speak  more  of  it,"  said  Glencore,  faintly. 
"I  know  not  howl  have  been  led  to  allude  to  what  it  is 
better  to  bear  in  secret  than  to  confide  even  to  friendship ;  " 
and  he  pressed  the  strong  fingers  of  the  other  as  he  spoke, 
in  his  own  feeble  grasp.  "  Leave  me  now,  Harcourt,  and 
send  Upton  here.  It  may  be  that  the  time  is  come  when  I 
shall  be  able  to  speak  to  him." 

' '  You  are  too  weak  to-day,  Glencore,  —  too  much  agitated. 
Pray  defer  this  interview." 

"No,  Harcourt;  these  are  my  moments  of  strength. 
The  little  energy  now  left  to  me  is  the  fruit  of  strong  excite- 
ment.    Heaven  knows  how  I  shall  be  to-morrow." 

Harcourt  made  no  further  opposition,  but  left  the  room  in 
search  of  Upton. 

It  was  full  an  hour  later  when  Sir  Horace  Upton  made  his 
appearance  in  Glencore's  chamber,  attired  in  a  purple  dress- 
ing-gown, profusely  braided  with  'gold,  loose  trousers  as 
richly  brocaded,  and  a  pair  of  real  Turkish  slippers,  resplen- 
dent with  costly  embroidery ;  a  small  fez  of  blue  velvet,  with 
a  deep  gold  tassel,  covered  the  top  of  his  head,  at  either  side 
of  which  his  soft  silky  hair  descended  in  long  massy  waves, 
apparently  negligently,  but  in  reality  arranged  with  all  the 
artistic  regard  to  effect  of  a  consummate  master.  From  the 
gold  girdle  at  his  waist  depended  a  watch,  a  bunch  of  keys, 
a  Turkish  purse,  an  embroidered  tobacco-bag,  a  gorgeously 


72         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

chased  smelling-bottle,  and  a  small  stiletto,  with  a  topaz 
handle.  In  one  hand  he  carried  a  meerschaum,  the  other 
leaned  upon  a  cane,  and  with  all  the  dependence  of  one  who 
could  not  walk  without  its  aid.  The  greeting  was  cordial 
and  affectionate  on  both  sides ;  and  when  Sir  Horace,  after 
a  variety  of  preparations  to  ensure  his  comfort,  at  length 
seated  himself  beside  the  bed,  his  features  beamed  with  all 
their  wonted  gentleness  and  kindness. 

''I'm  charmed  at  what  Harcourt  has  been  telling  me, 
Upton,"  said  Glencore;  ''and  that  you  really  can  exist  in 
all  the  savagery  of  this  wild  spot." 

"I'm  in  ecstasy  with  the  place,  Glencore.  My  memory 
cannot  recall  the  same  sensations  of  health  and  vigor  I  have 
experienced  since  I  came  here.  Your  cook  is  first-rate ;  your 
fare  is  exquisite ;  the  quiet  is  a  positive  blessing ;  and  that 
queer  creature,  your  doctor,  is  a  very  remarkable  genius." 

"  So  he  is,"  said  Glencore,  gravely. 

"  One  of  those  men  of  original  mould  who  leave  cultiva- 
tion leagues  behind,  and  arrive  at  truth  by  a  bound." 

"  He  certainly  treated  me  with  considerable  skill." 

"I'm  satisfied  of  it;  his  conversation  is  replete  with 
shrewd  and  intelligent  observation,  and  he  seems  to  have 
studied  his  art  more  like  a  philosopher  than  a  mere  physi- 
cian of  the  schools.  And  depend  upon  it,  Glencore,  the 
curative  art  must  mainly  depend  upon  the  secret  instinct 
which  divines  the  malady,  less  by  the  rigid  rules  of  acquired 
skill  than  by  that  prerogative  of  genius,  which,  however 
exerted,  arrives  at  its  goal  at  once.  Our  conversation  had 
scarcely  lasted  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  when  he  revealed  to  me 
the  exact  seat  of  all  my  sufferings,  and  the  most  perfect 
picture  of  my  temperament.  And  then  his  suggestions  as  to 
treatment  were  all  so  reasonable,  so  well  argued." 

"  A  clever  fellow,  no  doubt  of  it,"  said  Glencore. 

"  But  he  is  far  more  than  that,  Glencore.  Cleverness  is 
only  a  manufacturing  quality, — that  man  supplies  the  raw 
article  also.  It  has  often  struck  me  as  very  singular  that 
such  heads  are  not  found  in  our  class,  —  they  belong  to 
another  order  altogether.  It  is  possible  that  the  stimulus  of 
necessity  engenders  the  greatest  of  all  efforts,  calling  to  the 
operations  of  the  mind  the  continued  strain  for  contrivance ; 


A  DISCLOSURE.  73 

and  thus  do  we  find  the  most  remarkable  men  are  those, 
every  step  of  whose  knowledge  has  been  gained  with  a 
struggle." 

"  I  suspect  you  are  right,"  said  Glencore,  "  and  that  our 
old  system  of  school  education,  wherein  all  was  rough, 
rugged,  and  difficult,  turned  out  better  men  than  the  present- 
day  habit  of  everything-made-easy  and  everybody-made- any- 
thing. Flippancy  is  the  characteristic  of  our  age,  and  we 
owe  it  to  our  teaching." 

"  By  the  way,  what  do  you  mean  to  do  with  Charley?" 
said  Upton.     "  Do  you  intend  him  for  Eton?  " 

"  I  scarcely  know,  — I  make  plans  only  to  abandon  them," 
said  Glencore,  gloomily. 

"I'm  greatly  struck  with  him.  He  is  one  of  those  fel- 
lows, however,  who  require  the  nicest  management,  and  who 
either  rise  superior  to  all  around  them,  or  drop  down  into  an 
indolent,  dreamy  existence,  conscious  of  power,  but  too 
bashful  or  too  lazy  to  exert  it." 

*'  You  have  hit  him  off,  Upton,  with  all  your  own  subtlety ; 
and  it  was  to  speak  of  that  boy  I  have  been  so  eager  to  see 

you." 

Glencore  paused  as  he  said  these  words,  and  passed  his 
hand  over  his  brow,  gis  though  to  prepare  himself  for  the 
task  before  him. 

"Upton,"  said  he,  at  last,  in  a  voice  of  deep  and  solemn 
meaning,  "  the  resolution  I  am  about  to  impart  to  you  is  not 
unlikely  to  meet  your  strenuous  opposition ;  you  will  be  dis- 
posed to  show  me  strong  reasons  against  it  on  every  ground ; 
you  may  refuse  me  that  amount  of  assistance  I  shall  ask  of 
you  to  carry  out  my  purpose ;  but  if  your  arguments  were 
all  unanswerable,  and  if  your  denial  to  aid  me  was  to  sever 
the  old  friendship  between  us,  I  'd  still  persist  in  my  deter- 
mination.  For  more  than  two  years  the  project  has  been 
before  my  mind.  The  long  hours  of  the  day,  the  longer 
ones  of  the  night,  have  found  me  deep  in  the  consideration 
of  it.  I  have  repeated  over  to  myself  everything  that  my 
ingenuity  could  suggest  against  it ;  I  have  said  to  my  own 
heart  all  that  my  worst  enemy  could  utter,  were  he  to  read 
the  scheme  and  detect  my  plan ;  I  have  done  more,  —  I 
have  struggled  with  myself  to  abandon  it ;  but  in  vain.     My 


74         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

heart  is  linked  to  it ;  it  forms  the  one  sole  tie  that  attaches 
me  to  life.  Without  it,  the  apathy  that  I  feel  stealing  over 
me  would  be  complete,  and  my  existence  become  a  mourn- 
ful dream.  In  a  word,  Upton,  all  is  passionless  within 
me,  save  one  sentiment;  and  I  drag  on  life  merely  for  a 
'  Veyidetta.'" 

Upton  shook  his  head  mournfully,  as  the  other  paused 
here,  and  said,  — 

"  This  is  disease,  Glencore  !  " 

*' Be  it  so;  the  malady  is  beyond  cure,"  said  he,  sternly. 

*' Trust  me  it  is  not  so,"  said  Upton,  gently;  "you 
listened  to  my  persuasions  on  a  more  — " 

"Ay,  that  I  did!"  cried  Glencore,  interrupting;  "and 
have  I  ever  ceased  to  rue  the  day  I  did  so?  But  for  your 
arguments,  and  I  had  not  lived  this  life  of  bitter,  self- 
reproaching  misery;  but  for  you,  and  my  vengeance  had 
been  sated  ere  this !  " 

"Remember,  Glencore,"  said  the  other,  "that  you  had 
obtained  all  the  world  has  decreed  as  satisfaction.  He 
met  you  and  received  your  fire ;  you  shot  him  through  the 
chest,  —  not  mortally,  it  is  true,  but  to  carry  to  his  grave  a 
painful,  lingering  disease.  To  have  insisted  on  his  again 
meeting  you  would  have  been  little  less  than  murder.  No 
man  could  have  stood  your  friend  in  such  a  quarrel.  I  told 
you  so  then,  I  repeat  it  now,  Jie  could  not  fire  at  you ;  what, 
then,  was  it  possible  for  you  to  do?  " 

"Shoot  him,  —  shoot  him  like  a  dog!"  cried  Glencore, 
while  his  eyes  gleamed  like  the  glittering  eyes  of  an  enraged 
beast.  "You  talk  of  his  lingering  life  of  pain:  think  of 
mine  ;  have  some  sympathy  for  what  I  suffer !  Would  all 
the  agony  of  Ids  whole  existence  equal  one  hour  of  the 
torment  he  has  bequeathed  to  me,  its  shame  and  ignominy  ?  " 

' '  These  are  things  which  passion  can  never  treat  of,  my 
dear  Glencore." 

"Passion  alone  can  feel  them,"  said  the  other,  sternly. 
"  Keep  subtleties  for  those  who  use  like  weapons.  As  for 
me,  no  casuistry  is  needed  to  tell  me  I  am  dishonored,  and 
just  as  little  to  tell  me  I  must  be  avenged !  If  you  think 
differently,  it  were  better  not  to  discuss  this  question 
further  between  us ;  but  I  did  think  I  could  have  reckoned 


A  DISCLOSURE.  75 

upon  you,  for  I  felt  you  had  barred  my  first  chance  of  a 
vengeance." 

"Now,  then,  for  your  plan,  Glencore,"  said  Upton,  who, 
with  all  the  dexterity  of  his  calling,  preferred  opening  a 
new  channel  in  the  discussion,  to  aggravating  difficulties  by 
a  further  opposition. 

"I  must  rid  myself  of  her!  There's  my  plan!"  cried 
Glencore,  savagely.  "You  have  it  all  in  that  resolution. 
Of  no  avail  is  it  that  I  have  separated  my  fortune  from 
hers,  so  long  as  she  bears  my  name,  and  renders  it  infamous 
in  every  city  of  Europe.  Is  it  to  you^  who  live  in  the 
world,  —  who  mix  with  men  of  every  countr}^,  —  that  I  need 
tell  this?  If  a  man  cannot  throw  off  such  a  shame,  he 
must  sink  under  it." 

"  But  you  told  me  you  had  an  unconquerable  aversion  to 
the  notion  of  seeking  a  divorce.'* 

"  So  I  had;  so  I  have!  The  indelicate,  the  ignominious 
course  of  a  trial  at  law,  with  all  its  shocking  exposure, 
would  be  worse  than  a  thousand  deaths !  To  survive  the 
suffering  of  all  the  licensed  ribaldry  of  some  gowned 
coward  aspersing  one's  honor,  calumniating,  inventing, 
and,  when  invention  failed,  suggesting  motives,  the  very 
thought  of  which  in  secret  had  driven  a  man  to  madness ! 
To  endure  this  —  to  read  it  —  to  know  it  went  published 
over  the  wide  globe,  till  one's  shame  became  the  gossip  of 
millions  —  and  then  —  with  a  verdict  extorted  from  pity, 
damages  awarded  to  repair  a  broken  heart  and  a  sullied 
name  —  to  carry  this  disgrace  before  one's  equals,  to  be 
again  discussed,  sifted,  and  cavilled  at!  No,  Upton;  this 
poor  shattered  brain  would  give  way  under  such  a  trial ; 
to  compass  it  in  mere  fancy  is  already  nigh  to  madness ! 
It  must  be  by  other  means  than  these  that  I  attain  my 
object ! " 

The  terrible  energy  with  which  he  spoke  actually  fright- 
ened Upton,  who  fancied  that  his  reason  had  already  begun 
to  show  signs  of  decline. 

"The  world  has  decreed,"  resumed  Glencore,  "that  in 
these  conflicts  all  the  shame  shall  be  the  husband's ;  but  it 
shall  not  be  so  here !  She  shall  have  her  share,  ay,  and,  by 
Heaven,  not  the  smaller  share  either ! " 


76         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

''  Why,  what  would  you  do?"  asked  Upton,  eagerly. 

*'Deny  my  marriage;  call  her  my  mistress!"  cried 
Glencore,  in  a  voice  shaken  with  passion  and  excitement. 

"  But  your  boy,  —  your  son,  Glencore  !  " 

''He  shall  be  a  bastard!  You  may  hold  up  your  hands 
in  horror,  and  look  with  all  your  best  got-up  disgust  at 
such  a  scheme ;  but  if  you  wish  to  see  me  swear  to  ac- 
complish it,  I'll  do  so  now  before  you,  ay,  on  my  knees 
before  you!  When  we  eloped  from  her  father's  house  at 
Castellamare,  we  were  married  by  a  priest  at  Capri;  of 
the  marriage  no  trace  exists.  The  more  legal  ceremony 
was  performed  before  you,  as  Charge  d' Affaires  at  Naples, 
—  of  that  I  have  the  registry  here ;  nor,  except  my  courier, 
Sanson,  is  there  a  living  witness.  If  you  determine  to 
assert  it,  you  will  do  so  without  a  fragment  of  proof, 
since  every  document  that  could  substantiate  it  is  in  my 
keeping.  You  shall  see  them  for  yourself.  She  is,  there- 
fore, in  my  power ;  and  will  any  man  dare  to  tell  me  how  I 
should  temper  that  power?  " 

"  But  your  boy,  Glencore,  your  boy !  " 

"  Is  my  boy's  station  in  the  world  a  prouder  one  by  being 
the  son  of  the  notorious  Lady  Glencore,  or  as  the  offspring 
of  a  nameless  mistress  ?  What  avail  to  him  that  he  should 
have  a  title  stained  by  her  shame  ?  Where  is  he  to  go  ?  In 
what  land  is  he  to  live,  where  her  infamy  has  not  reached? 
Is  it  not  a  thousand  times  better  that  he  enter  life  ignoble 
and  unknown,  —  to  start  in  the  world's  race  with  what  he 
may  of  strength  and  power,  —  than  drag  on  an  unhonored 
existence,  shunned  by  his  equals,  and  only  welcome  where 
it  is  disgrace  to  find  companionship  ?  " 

''But  you  surely  have  never  contemplated  all  the  conse- 
quences of  this  rash  resolve.  It  is  the  extinction  of  an 
ancient  title,  the  alienation  of  a  great  estate,  when  once  you 
have  declared  your  boy  illegitimate." 

"He  is  a  beggar:  I  know  it;  the  penalty  he  must  pay 
is  a  heavy  one.  But  think  of  Aer,  Upton, — think  of  the 
haughty  Viscountess,  revelling  in  splendor,  and,  even  in 
all  her  shame,  the  flattered,  welcomed  guest  of  that  rotten, 
corrupt  society  she  lives  in.  Imagine  her  in  all  the  pride 
of  wealth  and  beauty,  sought  after,  adulated,  worshipped  as 


A  DISCLOSURE.  77 

she  is,  suddenly  struck  down  by  the  brand  of  this  disgrace, 
and  left  upon  the  world  without  fortune,  without  rank, 
without  even  a  name.  To  be  shunned  like  a  leper  by  the 
very  meanest  of  those  it  had  once  been  an  honor  when  she 
recognized  them.  Picture  to  yourself  this  woman,  degraded 
to  the  position  of  all  that  is  most  vile  and  contemptible. 
She,  that  scarcely  condescended  to  acknowledge  as  her 
equals  the  best-born  and  the  highest,  sunk  down  to  the  hope- 
less infamy  of  a  mistress.  They  tell  me  she  laughed  on  the 
day  I  fainted  at  seeing  her  entering  the  San  Carlos  at  Naples, 
—  laughed  as  they  carried  me  down  the  steps  into  the  fresh 
air  I  Will  she  laugh  now,  think  you  ?  Shall  I  be  called  '  Le 
Pauvre  Sire '  when  she  hears  this  ?  Was  there  ever  a  ven- 
geance more  terrible,  more  complete  ?  " 

''Again,  I  say,  Glencore,  you  have  no  right  to  involve 
others  in  the  penalty  of  her  fault.  Laying  aside  every  higher 
motive,  you  can  have  no  more  right  to  deny  your  boy's 
claim  to  his  rank  and  fortune  than  I  or  any  one  else.  It 
cannot  be  alienated  nor  extinguished ;  by  his  birth  he  be- 
came the  heir  to  your  title  and  estates." 

"He  has  no  birth,  sir,  he  is  a  bastard:  who  shall  deny 
it?  You  may,"  added  he,  after  a  second's  pause;  "but 
Where's  your  proof?  Is  not  every  probability  as  much 
against  you  as  all  documentary  evidence,  since  none  will 
ever  believe  that  I  could  rob  myself  of  the  succession,  and 
make  over  my  fortune  to  Heaven  knows  what  remote 
relation  ?  " 

"  And  do  you  expect  me  to  become  a  party  to  this  crime?  " 
asked  Upton,  gravely. 

"You  balked  me  in  one  attempt  at  vengeance,  and  I 
think  you  owe  me  a  reparation  !  " 

"  Glencore,"  said  Upton,  solemnly,  "  we  are  both  of  us 
men  of  the  world,  —  men  who  have  seen  life  in  all  its  varied 
aspects  sufficiently  to  know  the  hollowness  of  more  than 
half  the  pretension  men  trade  upon  as  principle;  we  have 
witnessed  mean  actions  and  the  very  lowest  motives  amongst 
the  highest  in  station ;  and  it  is  not  for  either  of  us  to  affect 
any  overstrained  estimate  of  men's  honor  and  good  faith ; 
but  I  say  to  you,  in  all  sincerity,  that  not  alone  do  I  refuse 
you  all  concurrence  in  the  act  you  meditate,  but  I  hold  my- 
self open  to  denounce  and  frustrate  it." 


78         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"You  do!"  cried  Glencore,  wildly,  while  with  a  bound 
he  sat  up  in  his  bed,  grasping  the  curtain  convulsively  for 
support. 

"  Be  calm,  Glencore,  and  listen  to  me  patiently." 

''You  declare  that  you  will  use  the  confidence  of  this 
morning  against  me !  "  cried  Glencore,  while  the  lines  in 
his  face  became  indented  more  deeply,  and  his  bloodless 
lips  quivered  with  passion.  "You  take  your  part  with 
her  !  " 

"  I  only  ask  that  you  would  hear  me." 

"You  owe  me  four  thousand  five  hundred  pounds.  Sir 
Horace  Upton,"  said  jGlencore,  in  a  voice  barely  above  a 
whisper,  but  every  accent  of  which  was  audible. 

"I  know  it,  Glencore,"  said  Upton,  calmly.  "You 
helped  me  by  a  loan  of  that  sum  in  a  moment  of  great  diffi- 
culty. Your  generosity  went  farther,  for  you  took,  what 
nobody  else  would,  my  personal  security." 

Glencore  made  no  reply,  but,  throwing  back  the  bed- 
clothes, slowly  and  painfully  arose,  and  with  tottering  and 
uncertain  steps  approached  a  table.  With  a  trembling 
hand  he  unlocked  a  drawer,  and  taking  out  a  paper,  opened 
and  scanned  it  over. 

"There's  your  bond,  sir,"  said  he,  with  a  hollow,  caver- 
nous voice,  as  he  threw  it  into  the  fire,  and  crushed  it  down 
into  the  flames  with  a  poker.  ^''  There  is  now  nothing  be- 
tween us.  You  are  free  to  do  your  worst ! "  And  as  he 
spoke,  a  few  drops  of  dark  blood  trickled  from  his  nostril, 
and  he  fell  senseless  upon  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

SOME    LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS    OP   DIPLOMATIC   LIFE. 

There  is  a  trait  in  the  lives  of  great  diplomatists  of  which 
it  is  just  possible  some  one  or  other  of  my  readers  may  not 
have  heard,  which  is,  that  none  of  them  have  ever  attained 
to  any  great  eminence  without  an  attachment  —  we  can  find 
no  better  word  for  it  —  to  some  woman  of  superior  under- 
standing who  has  united  within  herself  great  talents  for 
society  with  a  high  and  soaring  ambition. 

They  who  only  recognize  in  the  world  of  politics  the  dry 
details  of  ordinary  parliamentary  business,  poor-law  ques- 
tions, sanitary  rules,  railroad  bills,  and  colonial  grants  can 
form  but  a  scanty  notion  of  the  excitement  derived  from  the 
high  interests  of  party,  and  the  great  game  played  by  about 
twenty  mighty  gamblers,  with  the  whole  world  for  the  table, 
and  kingdoms  for  counters.  In  this  "grand  role"  women 
perform  no  ignoble  part ;  nay,  it  were  not  too  much  to  say 
that  theirs  is  the  very  motive-power  of  the  whole  vast 
machinery. 

Had  we  any  right  to  step  beyond  the  limits  of  our  story 
for  illustration,  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  quote  names 
enough  to  show  that  we  are  speaking  not  at  hazard,  but 
*'  from  book,"  and  that  great  events  derive  far  less  of  their 
impulse  from  ' '  the  lords  "  than  from  ' '  the  ladies  of  crea- 
tion." Whatever  be  the  part  they  take  in  these  contests, 
their  chief  attention  is  ever  directed,  not  to  the  smaller 
battle-field  of  home  questions,  but  to  the  greater  and  wider 
campaign  of  international  politics.  Men  may  wrangle  and 
hair-split,  and  divide  about  a  harbor  bill  or  a  road  cession ; 
but  women  occupy  themselves  in  devising  how  thrones  may 
be  shaken  and  dynasties  disturbed,  — how  frontiers  may  be 
changed,  and  nationalities  trafficked ;  for,  strange  as  it  may 


80         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

seem,  the  stupendous  incidents  which  mould  human  desti- 
nies are  more  under  the  influence  of  passion  and  intrigue 
than  the  commonest  events  of  e very-day  life. 

Our  readers  may,  and  not  very  unreasonably,  begin  to 
suspect  that  it  was  in  some  moment  of  abstraction  we 
wrote  "Glencore"  at  the  head  of  these  pages,  and  that 
these  speculations  are  but  the  preface  to  some  very  abstruse 
reflections  upon  the  political  condition  of  Europe.  But  no ; 
they  are  simply  intended  as  a  prelude  to  the  fact  that  Sir 
Horace  Upton  was  not  exempt  from  the  weakness  of  his 
order,  and  that  he,  too,  reposed  his  trust  upon  a  woman's 
judgment. 

The  name  of  his  illustrious  guide  was  the  Princess  Sablou- 
kofif,  by  birth  a  Pole,  but  married  to  a  Russian  of  vast  wealth 
and  high  family,  from  whom  she  separated  early  in  life,  to 
mingle  in  the  world  with  all  the  ' '  prestige "  of  position, 
riches,  and  —  greater  than  either  —  extreme  beauty,  and  a 
manner  of  such  fascination  as  made  her  name  of  European 
celebrity. 

When  Sir  Horace  first  met  her,  he  was  the  junior  mem- 
ber of  our  Embassy  at  Naples,  and  she  the  distinguished 
leader  of  fashion  in  that  city.  We  are  not  about  to  busy 
ourselves  with  the  various  narratives  which  professed  to 
explain  her  influence  at  Court,  or  the  secret  means  to  which 
she  owed  her  ascendency  over  royal  highnesses,  and  her 
sway  over  cardinals.  Enough  that  she  possessed  such,  and 
that  the  world  knew  it.  The  same  success  attended  her  at 
Vienna  and  at  Paris.  She  was  courted  and  sought  after 
everywhere ;  and  if  her  arrival  was  not  feted  with  the  public 
demonstrations  that  await  royalty,  it  was  assuredly  an  event 
recognized  with  all  that  could  flatter  her  vanity  or  minister 
to  her  self-esteem. 

When  Sir  Horace  was  presented  to  her  as  an  Attache,  she 
simply  bowed  and  smiled.  He  renewed  his  acquaintance 
some  ten  years  later  as  a  Secretary,  when  she  vouchsafed 
to  say  she  remembered  him.  A  third  time,  after  a  lapse  of 
years,  he  came  before  her  as  a  Charge  d' Affaires,  when  she 
conversed  with  him ;  and  lastly,  when  time  had  made  him  a 
Minister,  and  with  less  generosity  had  laid  its  impress  upon 
herself,  she  gave  him  her  hand,  and  said,  — 


SOME  LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  DIPLOMATIC  LIFE.     81 

"  My  dear  Horace,  how  charming  to  see  an  old  friend,  if 
you  will  be  good  enough  to  let  me  call  you  so." 

And  he  was  so ;  he  accepted  the  friendship  as  frankly  as 
it  was  proffered.  He  knew  that  time  was  when  he  could 
have  no  pretension  to  this  distinction :  but  the  beautiful 
Princess  was  no  longer  young;  the  fascinations  she  had 
wielded  were  already  a  kind  of  Court  tradition ;  archdukes 
and  ambassadors  were  no  more  her  slaves ;  nor  was  she  the 
terror  of  jealous  queens  and  Court  favorites.  Sir  Horace 
knew  all  this ;  but  he  also  knew  that,  she  being  ^  such,  his 
ambition  had  never  dared  to  aspire  to  her  friendship,  and  it 
was  only  in  her  days  of  declining  fortune  that  he  could  hope 
for  such  distinction. 

All  this  may  seem  very  strange  and  very  odd,  dear  reader ; 
but  we  live  in  very  strange  and  very  odd  times,  and  more 
than  one-half  the  world  is  only  living  on  "  second-hand,"  — 
second-hand  shawls  and  second-hand  speeches,  second-hand 
books,  and  Court  suits  and  opinions  are  all  rife ;  and  why 
not  second-hand  friendships? 

Now,  the  friendship  between  a  bygone  beauty  of  forty  — 
and  we  will  not  say  how  many  more  years  —  and  a  hack- 
neyed, half -disgusted  man  of  the  world,  of  the  same  age,  is 
a  very  curious  contract.  There  is  no  love  in  it ;  as  little  is 
there  any  strong  tie  of  esteem :  but  there  is  a  wonderful  bond 
of  self-interest  and  mutual  convenience.  Each  seems  to  have 
at  last  found  "one  that  understands  him;"  similarity  of 
pursuit  has  engendered  similarity  of  taste.  They  have  each 
seen  the  world  from  exactly  the  same  point  of  view,  and 
they  have  come  out  of  it  equally  heart-wearied  and  tired, 
stored  with  vast  resources  of  social  knowledge,  and  with  a 
keen  insight  into  everj^  phase  of  that  complex  machinery  by 
which  one-half  the  world  cheats  the  other. 

Madame  de  Sabloukoff  was  still  handsome ;  she  had  far 
more  than  what  is  ill-naturedly  called  the  remains  of  good 
looks.  She  had  a  brilliant  complexion,  lustrous  dark  eyes, 
and  a  profusion  of  the  most  beautiful  hair.  She  was,  besides, 
a  most  splendid  dresser.  Her  toilet  was  the  very  perfection 
of  taste,  and  if  a  little  inclining  to  over-magnificence,  not  the 
less  becoming  to  one  whose  whole  air  and  bearing  assumed 
something  of  queenly  dignity. 


82         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

In  the  world  of  society  there  is  a  very  great  prestige 
attends  those  who  have  at  some  one  time  played  a  great  part 
in  life.  The  deposed  king,  the  ex-minister,  the  banished 
general,  and  even  the  bygone  beauty,  receive  a  species  of 
respectful  homage,  which  the  wider  world  without-doors  is 
not  always  ready  to  accord  them.  Good  breeding,  in  fact, 
concedes  what  mere  justice  might  deny ;  and  they  who  have 
to  fall  back  upon  "souvenirs"  for  their  greatness,  always 
find  their  advantage  in  associating  with  the  class  whose  pre- 
rogative is  good  manners. 

The  Princess  Sabloukoff  was  not,  however,  one  of  those 
who  can  live  upon  the  interest  of  a  bygone  fame.  She 
saw  that,  when  the  time  of  coquetry  and  its  fascinations 
has  passed,  still,  with  faculties  like  hers,  there  was  j^et  a 
great  game  to  be  played.  Hitherto  she  had  only  studied 
characters ;  now  she  began  to  reflect  upon  events.  The 
transition  was  an  easy  one,  to  which  her  former  knowledge 
contributed  largely  its  assistance.  There  was  scarcely  a 
royalty,  hardly  a  leading  personage,  in  Europe  she  did  not 
know  personally  and  well.  She  had  lived  in  intimacy  with 
ministers,  and  statesmen,  and  great  politicians.  She  knew 
them  in  all  that  "  life  of  the  salon"  where  men  alternately 
expand  into  frankness,  and  practise  the  wily  devices  of  their 
crafty  callings.  She  had  seen  them  in  all  the  weaknesses, 
too,  of  inferior  minds,  eager  after  small  objects,  tormented 
by  insignificant  cares.  They  who  habitually  dealt  with  these 
mighty  personages  only  beheld  them  in  their  dignity  of 
station,  or  surrounded  by  the  imposing  accessories  of  office. 
What  an  advantage,  then,  to  regard  them  closer  and  nearer, 
—  to  be  aware  of  their  shortcomings,  and  acquainted  with 
the  secret  springs  of  their  ambitions ! 

The  Princess  and  Sir  Horace  very  soon  saw  that  each 
needed  the  other.  When  Robert  Macaire  accidentally 
met  an  accomplished  gamester  who  "turned  the  king" 
as  often  as  he  did,  and  could  reciprocate  every  trick 
and  artifice  with  him,  he  threw  down  the  cards,  saying, 
"  Embrassons-nous,  nous  sommes  freres  !  "  Now,  the  illus- 
tration is  a  very  ignoble  one,  but  it  conveys  no  very  inexact 
idea  of  the  bond  which  united  these  two  distinguished 
individuals. 


SOME  LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  DIPLOMATIC  LIFE.     83 

Sir  Horace  was  one  of  those  fine,  acute  intelligences 
which  may  be  gapped  and  blunted  if  applied  to  rough  work, 
but  are  splendid  instruments  where  you  would  cut  cleanly 
and  cut  deep.  She  saw  this  at  once.  He,  too,  recognized 
in  her  a  wonderful  knowledge  of  life,  joined  to  vast  powers 
of  employing  it  with  profit.  No  more  was  wanting  to  estab- 
lish a  friendship  between  them.  Dispositions  must  be,  to  a 
certain  degree,  different  between  those  who  are  to  live  to- 
gether as  friends,  but  tastes  must  be  alike.  Theirs  were  so. 
They  had  the  same  veneration  for  the  same  things,  the  same 
regard  for  the  same  celebrities,  and  the  same  contempt  for 
the  small  successes  which  were  engaging  the  minds  of  man}?- 
around  them.  If  the  Princess  had  a  real  appreciation  of 
the  fine  abilities  of  Sir  Horace,  he  estimated  at  their  full 
value  all  the  resources  of  her  wondrous  tact  and  skill,  and 
the  fascinations  which  even  yet  surrounded  her. 

Have  we  said  enough  to  explain  the  terms  of  this  alliance, 
or  must  we  make  one  more  confession,  and  own  that  her 
insidious  praise  —  a  flattery  too  delicate  and  fine  ever  to  be 
committed  to  absolute  eulogy  —  convinced  Sir  Horace  that 
she  alone,  of  all  the  world,  was  able  to  comprehend  the  vast 
stores  of  his  knowledge,  and  the  wide  measure  of  his  capa- 
city as  a  statesman  ? 

In  the  great  game  of  statecraft,  diplomatists  are  not  above 
looking  into  each  other's  hands ;  but  this  must  always  be 
accomplished  by  means  of  a  confederate.  How  terribly 
alike  are  all  human  rogueries,  whether  the  scene  be  a  con- 
ference at  Vienna,  or  the  tent  of  a  thimblerig  at  Ascot !  La 
Sabloukoff  was  unrivalled  in  the  art.  She  knew  how  to 
push  raillery  and  persiflage  to  the  very  frontiers  of  truth, 
and  even  peep  over  and  see  what  lay  beyond.  Sir  Horace 
traded  on  the  material  with  which  she  supplied  him,  and 
acquired  the  reputation  of  being  all  that  was  crafty  and 
subtle  in  diplomacy. 

How  did  Upton  know  this?  Whence  came  he  by  that? 
What  mysterious  source  of  information  is  he  possessed  of? 
Who  could  have  revealed  such  a  secret  to  him?  were  ques- 
tions often  asked  in  that  dreary  old  drawing-room  of  Down- 
ing Street,  where  men's  destinies  are  shaped,  and  the  fate  of 
millions  decided,  from  four  o'clock  to  six  of  an  afternoon. 


84         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

Often  and  often  were  the  measures  of  the  Cabinet  shaped 
by  the  tidings  which  arrived  with  all  the  speed  of  a  foreign 
courier ;  over  and  over  again  were  the  speeches  in  Parlia- 
ment based  upon  information  received  from  him.  It  has 
even  happened  that  the  news  from  his  hand  has  caused  the 
telegraph  of  the  Admiralty  to  signalize  the  "Thunderer"  to 
put  to  sea  with  all  haste.  In  a  word,  he  was  the  trusted 
agent  of  our  Government,  whether  ruled  by  a  Whig  or  a 
Tory,  and  his  despatches  were  ever  regarded  as  a  sure 
warranty  for  action. 

The  English  Minister  at  a  Foreign  Court  labors  under  one 
great  disadvantage,  which  is,  that  his  policy,  and  all  the 
consequences  that  are  to  follow  it,  are  rarely,  if  ever,  shaped 
with  any  reference  to  the  state  of  matters  then  existing  in 
his  own  country.  Absorbed  as  he  is  in  great  European 
questions,  how  can  he  follow  with  sufficient  attention  the 
course  of  events  at  home,  or  recognize,  in  the  signs  and 
tokens  of  the  division  list,  the  changeful  fortunes  of  party? 
He  may  be  advising  energy  when  the  cry  is  all  for  temporiz- 
ing ;  counselling  patience  and  submission,  when  the  nation 
is  eager  for  a  row ;  recommend  religious  concessions  in  the 
very  week  that  Exeter  Hall  is  denouncing  toleration;  or 
actually  suggesting  aid  to  a  Government  that  a  popular 
orator  has  proclaimed  to  be  everything  that  is  unjust  and 
ignominious. 

It  was  Sir  Horace  Upton's  fortune  to  have  fallen  into 
one  of  these  embarrassments.  He  had  advised  the  Home 
Government  to  take  some  measures,  or  at  least  look  with 
favor  on  certain  movements  of  the  Poles  in  Russia,  in  order 
the  better  to  obtain  some  concessions  then  required  from 
the  Cabinet  of  the  Czar.  The  Premier  did  not  approve  of 
the  suggestion,  nor  was  it  like  to  meet  acceptance  at  home. 
We  were  in  a  pro-Russian  fever  at  the  moment.  Some  mob 
disturbances  at  Norwich,  a  Chartist  meeting  at  Stockport, 
and  something  else  in  Wales,  had  frightened  the  nation  into 
a  hot  stage  of  conservatism ;  and  never  was  there  such  an 
ill-chosen  moment  to  succor  Poles  or  awaken  dormant 
nationalities. 

Upton's  proposal  was  rejected.  He  was  even  visited  with 
one  of  those  disagreeable  acknowledgments   by  which  the 


SOME  LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  DIPLOMATIC  LIFE.     85 

Foreign  Office  reminds  a  speculative  minister  that  he  is  going 
ultra  crepidam.  When  an  envoy  is  snubbed,  he  always 
asks  for  leave  of  absence.  If  the  castigation  be  severe,  he 
invariably,  on  his  return  to  England,  goes  to  visit  the  Leader 
of  the  Opposition.  This  is  the  ritual.  Sir  Horace,  however, 
only  observed  it  in  half.  He  came  home  ;  but  after  his  first 
morning's  attendance  at  the  Foreign  Office,  he  disappeared ; 
none  saw  or  heard  of  him.  He  knew  well  all  the  value  of 
mystery,  and  he  accordingly  disappeared  from  public  view 
altogether. 

When,  therefore,  Harcourt's  letter  reached  him,  proposing 
that  he  should  visit  Glencore,  the  project  came  most  oppor- 
tunely ;  and  that  he  only  accepted  it  for  a  day,  was  in  the 
spirit  of  his  habitual  diplomacy,  since  he  then  gave  himself 
all  the  power  of  an  immediate  departure,  or  permitted  the 
option  of  remaining  gracefully,  in  defiance  of  all  pre-engage- 
ments,  and  all  plans  to  be  elsewhere.  We  have  been  driven, 
for  the  sake  of  this  small  fact,  to  go  a  great  way  round  in 
our  history ;  but  we  promise  our  readers  that  Sir  Horace  was 
one  of  those  people  whose  motives  are  never  tracked  without 
a  considerable  detour.  The  reader  knows  now  why  he  was 
at  Glencore,  —  he  already  knew  how. 

The  terrible  interview  with  Glencore  brought  back  a 
second  relapse  of  greater  violence  than  the  first,  and  it  was 
nigh  a  fortnight  ere  he  was  pronounced  out  of  danger.  It 
was  a  strange  life  that  Harcourt  and  Upton  led  in  that 
dreary  interval.  Guests  of  one  whose  life  was  in  utmost 
peril,  they  met  in  that  old  gallery  each  day  to  talk,  in  half- 
whispered  sentences,  over  the  sick  man's  case,  and  his 
chances  of  recovery. 

Harcourt  frankly  told  Upton  that  the  first  relapse  was  the 
consequence  of  a  scene  between  Glencore  and  himself. 
Upton  made  no  similar  confession.  He  reflected  deeply, 
however,  over  all  that  had  passed,  and  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion that,  in  Glencore's  present  condition,  opposition  might 
prejudice  his  chance  of  recovery,  but  never  avail  to  turn  him 
from  his  project.  He  also  set  himself  to  study  the  boy's 
character,  and  found  it,  in  all  respects,  the  very  type  of 
his  father's.  Great  bashfulness,  united  to  great  boldness, 
timidity,  and  distrust,  were  there  side  by  side  with  a  rash, 


86         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

impetuous  nature  that  would  hesitate  at  nothing  in  pursuit 
of  an  object.  Pride,  however,  was  the  great  principle  of 
his  being,  —  the  good  and  evil  motive  of  all  that  was  in 
him.  He  had  pride  on  every  subject.  His  name,  his  rank, 
his  station,  a  consciousness  of  natural  quickness,  a  sense  of 
aptitude  to  learn  whatever  came  before  him,  —  all  gave  him 
the  same  feeling  of  pride. 

"  There's  a  deal  of  good  in  that  lad,"  said  Harcourt  to 
Upton,  one  evening,  as  the  boy  had  left  the  room;  ''I  like 
his  strong  affection  for  his  father,  and  that  unbounded  faith 
he  seems  to  have  in  Glencore's  being  better  than  every  one 
else  in  the  world." 

"  It  is  an  excellent  religion,  my  dear  Harcourt,  if  <  it  could 
only  last !  "  said  the  diplomat,  smiling  amiably. 

''And  why  shouldn't  it  last?"  asked  the  other, 
impatiently. 

"Just  because  nothing  lasts  that  has  its  origin  in  igno- 
rance. The  boy  has  seen  nothing  of  life,  has  had  no 
opportunity  for  forming  a  judgment  or  instituting  a  com- 
parison between  any  two  objects.  The  first  shot  that 
breaches  that  same  fortress  of  belief,  down  will  come  the 
whole  edifice ! " 

''You'd  give  a  lad  to  the  Jesuits,  then,  to  be  trained  up 
in  every  artifice  and  distrust?" 

"  Far  from  it,  Harcourt.  I  think  their  system  a  mistake 
all  through.  The  science  of  life  must  be  self -learned,  and 
it  is  a  slow  acquisition.  All  that  education  can  do  is  to 
prepare  the  mind  to  receive  it.  Now,  to  employ  the  first 
years  of  a  boy's  life  by  storing  him  with  prejudices,  is  just 
to  encumber  a  vessel  with  a  rotten  cargo  that  she  must 
throw  overboard  before  she  can  load  with  a  profitable 
freight." 

"And  is  it  in  that  category  you'd  class  his^love  for  his 
father?"  asked  the  Colonel. 

"Of  course  not;  but  any  unnatural  or  exaggerated 
estimate  of  him  is  a  great  error,  to  lead  to  an  equally  unfair 
depreciation  when  the  time  of  deception  is  past.  To  be 
plain,  Harcourt,  is  that  boy  fitted  to  enter  one  of  our  great 
public  schools,  stand  the  hard,  rough  usage  of  his  own  equals, 
and  buffet  it  as  you  or  I  have  done  ?  " 


SOME  LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  DIPLOMATIC  LIFE.     87 

"  Why  not?  or,  at  least,  why  should  n't  he  become  so  after 
a  month  or  two  ?  " 

"Just  because  in  that  same  month  or  two  he'd  either 
die  broken-hearted,  or  plunge  his  knife  into  the  heart  of 
some  comrade  who  insulted  him." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  You  don't  know  him  at  all.  Charley 
is  a  fine  give-and-take  fellow;  a  little  proud,  perhaps, 
because  he  lives  apart  from  all  that  are  his  equals.  Let 
Glencore  just  take  courage  to  send  him  to  Harrow  or 
Rugby,  and  my  life  on  it,  but  he  '11  be  the  manliest  fellow  in 
the  school." 

"  I  '11  undertake,  without  Harrow  or  Rugby,  that  the  boy 
should  become  something  even  greater  than  that,"  said 
Upton,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  sneer  at  my  ideas  of  what  a  young 
fellow  ought  to  be,"  said  Harcourt;  "but,  somehow,  you 
did  not  neglect  these  same  pursuits  yourself.  •  You  can 
shoot  as  well  as  most  men,  and  you  ride  better  than  any  I 
know  of." 

"One  likes  to  do  a  little  of  everything,  Harcourt,"  said 
Upton,  not  at  all  displeased  at  this  flattery;  "  and  some- 
how it  never  suits  a  fellow,  who  really  feels  that  he  has 
fair  abilities,  to  do  anything  badly;  so  that  it  comes  to 
this  :  one  does  it  well,  or  not  at  all.  Now,  you  never  heard 
me  touch  the  piano  ?  " 

"Never." 

"Just  because  I'm  only  an  inferior  performer,  and  so  I 
only  play  when  perfectly  alone." 

"Egad,  if  I  could  only  master  a  waltz,  or  one  of  the 
melodies,  I'd  be  at  it  whenever  any  one  would  listen  to 
me." 

"You're  a  good  soul,  and  full  of  amiability,  Harcourt," 
said  Upton ;  but  the  words  sounded  very  much  as  though 
he  said,  "You're  a  dear,  good,  sensible  creature,  without 
an  atom  of  self-respect  or  esteem." 

Indeed,  so  conscious  was  Harcourt  that  the  expression 
meant  iio  compliment  that  he  actually  reddened  and  looked 
away.  At  last  he  took  courage  to  renew  the  conversation, 
and  said,  — 

"  And  what  would  you  advise  for  the  boy,  then?  " 


88         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

*'  I  'd  scarcely  lay  down  a  system ;  but  I  '11  tell  you  what 
I  would  not  do.  I  'd  not  bore  him  with  mathematics  ;  I  'd 
not  put  his  mind  on  the  stretch  in  any  direction ;  I  'd  not 
stifle  the  development  of  any  taste  that  may  be  struggling 
within  him,  but  rather  encourage  and  foster  it,  since  it  is 
precisely  by  such  an  indication  you  '11  get  some  clew  to  his 
nature.     Do  you  understand  me?" 

''  I 'm  not  quite  sure  I  do ;  but  I  believe  you'd  leave  him 
to  something  like  utter  idleness." 

''  What  to  you^  my  dear  Harcourt,  would  be  utter  idle- 
ness, I've  no  doubt;  but  not  to  7im,  perhaps." 

Again  the  Colonel  looked  mortified,  but  evidently  knew 
not  how  to  resent  this  new  sneer. 

*'  Well,"  said  he,  after  a  pause,  "  the  lad  will  not  require 
to  be  a  genius." 

"  So  much  the  better  for  him,  probably;  at  all  events,  so 
much  the  better  for  his  friends,  and  all  who  are  to  associate 
with  him." 

Here  he  looked  fixedly  at  Upton,  who  smiled  a  most  cour- 
teous acquiescence  in  the  opinion,  —  a  politeness  that  made 
poor  Harcourt  perfectly  ashamed  of  his  own  rudeness,  and 
he  continued  hurriedly,  — 

"He'll  have  abundance  of  money.  The  life  Glencore 
leads  here  will  be  like  a  long  minority  to  hiiiji.  A  fine  old 
name  and  title,  and  the  deuce  is  in  it  if  he  can't  rub  through 
life  pleasantly  enough  with  such  odds." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,  after  all,  Harcourt,"  said  Upton, 
sighing,  and  now  speaking  in  a  far  more  natural  tone;  "  it 
is  '  rubbing  through '  with  the  best  of  us,  and  no  more !  " 

"  If  you  mean  that  the  process  is  a  very  irksome  one,  I 
enter  my  dissent  at  once,"  broke  in  Harcourt.  "I'm  not 
ashamed  to  own  that  I  like  life  prodigiously;  and  if  I  be 
spared  to  say  so,  I'm  sure  I'll  have  the  same  story  to  tell 
fifteen  or  twenty  years  hence ;  and  yet  I  'm  not  a  genius !  " 

"  No,"  said  Upton,  smiling  a  bland  assent. 

"Nor  a  philosopher  either,"  said  Harcourt,  irritated  at 
the  acknowledgment. 

"  Certainly  not,"  chimed  in  Upton,  with  another  smile. 

"  Nor  have  I  any  wish  to  be  one  or  the  other,"  rejoined 
Harcourt,  now  really  provoked.     "I  know  right  well  that 


SOME  LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  DIPLOMATIC  LIFE.     89 

if  I  were  in  trouble  or  difficulty  to-morrow,  —  if  I  wanted  a 
friend  to  help  me  with  a  loan  of  some  thousand  pounds,  — 
it  is  not  to  a  genius  or  a  philosopher  I  'd  look  for  the 
assistance." 

It  is  ever  a  chance  shot  that  explodes  a  magazine,  and  so 
is  it  that  a  random  speech  is  sure  to  hit  the  mark  that  has 
escaped  all  the  efforts  of   skilful  direction. 

Upton  winced  and  grew  pale  at  these  last  words,  and  he 
fixed  his  penetrating  gray  eyes  upon  the  speaker  with  a 
keenness  all  his  own.  Harcourt,  however,  bore  the  look 
without  the  slightest  touch  of  uneasiness.  The  honest 
Colonel  had  spoken  without  any  hidden  meaning,  nor  had 
he  the  slightest  intention  of  a  personal  application  in  his 
words.  Of  this  fact  Upton  appeared  soon  to  be  convinced, 
for  his  features  gradually  recovered  their  wonted  calmness. 

"How  perfectly  right  you  are,  my  dear  Harcourt,"  said 
he,  mildly.  "The  man  who  expects  to  be  happier  by  the 
possession  of  genius  is  like  one  who  would  like  to  warm 
himself  through  a  burning-glass." 

"Egad,  that  is  a  great  consolation  for  us  slow  fellows," 
said  Harcourt,  laughing  ;  "  and  now  what  say  you  to  a  game 
at  ecarte;  for  I  believe  it  is  just  the  one  solitary  thing  I  am 
more  than  your  match  in?" 

"  I  accept  inferiority  in  a  great  many  others,"  said  Upton, 
blandly;  "but  I  must  decline  the  challenge,  for  I  have  a 
letter  to  write,  and  our  post  here  starts  at  daybreak." 

"  Well,  I'd  rather  carry  the  whole  bag  than  indite  one  of 
its  contents,"  said  the  Colonel,  rising ;  and,  with  a  hearty 
shake  of  the  hand,  he  left  the  room. 

A  letter  was  fortunately  not  so  great  an  infliction  to 
Upton,  who  opened  his  desk  at  once,  and  with  a  rapid  hand 
traced  the  following  lines :  — 

My  dear  Princess,  —  My  last  will  have  told  you  how  and 
when  I  came  here ;  I  wish  I  but  knew  in  what  way  to  explain  why 
I  still  remain  !  Imagine  the  dreariest  desolation  of  Calabria  in  a 
climate  of  fog  and  sea-drift :  sunless  skies,  leafless  trees,  impass- 
able roads,  the  out-door  comforts ;  the  joys  within  depending  on  a 
gloomy  old  house,  with  a  few  gloomier  inmates,  and  a  host  on  a 
sick  bed.  Yet,  with  all  this,  I  believe  I  am  better ;  the  doctor, 
a  strange,  unsophisticated  creature,  a  cross  between  Galen  and 


90         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

Caliban,  seems  to  have  hit  off  what  the  great  dons  of  science  never 
could  detect,  —  the  true  seat  of  my  malady.  He  says  —  and  he 
really  reasons  out  his  case  ingeniously  —  that  the  brain  has  been 
working  for  the  inferior  nerves,  not  limiting  itself  to  cerebral  func- 
tions, but  actually  performing  the  humbler  office  of  muscular 
direction,  and  so  forth;  in  fact,  a  field-marshal  doing  duty  for  a 
common  soldier !  I  almost  fancy  I  can  corroborate  his  view,  from 
internal  sensations ;  I  have  a  kind  of  secret  instinct  that  he  is 
right.  Poor  brain !  why  it  should  do  the  work  of  another  depart- 
ment, with  abundance  of  occupation  of  its  own,  I  cannot  make  out. 
But  to  turn  to  something  else.  This  is  not  a  bad  refuge  just  now. 
They  cannot  make  out  where  I  am,  and  all  the  inquiries  at  my 
club  are  answered  by  a  vague  impression  that  I  have  gone  back  to 
Germany,  which  the  people  at  F.  O.  are  aware  is  not  the  case.  I 
have  already  told  you  that  my  suggestion  has  been  negatived  in  the 
Cabinet :  it  was  ill-timed,  Allington  says ;  but  I  ventured  to  remind 
his  Lordship  that  a  policy  requiring  years  to  develop,  and  more 
years  still  to  push  to  a  profitable  conclusion,  is  not  to  be  reduced 
to  the  category  of  mere  a  propos  measures.  He  was  vexed,  and 
replied  weakly  and  angrily.  I  rejoined,  and  left  him.  Next  day 
he  sent  for  me,  but  my  reply  was,  "  I  was  leaving  town ;  "  and  I 
left.  I  don't  want  the  Bath,  because  it  would  be  "  ill-timed  ;  "  so 
that  T/hey  must  give  me  Vienna,  or  be  satisfied  to  see  me  in  the 
House  and  the  Opposition ! 

Your  tidings  of  Brekenoff  came  exactly  in  the  nick.  Allington 
said  pompously  that  they  were  sure  of  him ;  so  I  just  said,  "  Ask 
him  if  they  would  like  our  sending  a  Consular  Agent  to  Cracow  ?  " 
It  seems  that  he  was  so  flurried  by  a  fancied  detection  that  he 
made  a  full  acknowledgment  of  all.  But  even  at  this,  Allington 
takes  no  alarm.  The  malady  of  the  Treasury  benches  is  deafness, 
with  a  touch  of  blindness.  What  a  cumbrous  piece  of  bungling 
machinery  is  this  boasted  "  representative  government "  of  ours  I 
No  promptitude,  no  secrecy !  Everything  debated,  and  discussed, 
and  discouraged,  before  begun ;  every  blot-hit  for  an  antagonist  to 
profit  by !  Even  the  characters  of  our  public  men  exposed,  and 
their  weaknesses  displayed  to  view,  so  that  every  state  of  Europe 
may  see  where  to  wound  us,  and  through  whom  !  There  is  no  use 
in  the  Countess  remaining  here  any  longer  ;  the  King  never  noticed 
her  at  the  last  ball ;  she  is  angry  at  it,  and  if  she  shows  her  irritation 
she  '11  spoil  all.  I  always  thought  Josephine  would  fail  in  Eng- 
land. It  is,  indeed,  a  widely  different  thing  to  succeed  in  the  small 
Courts  of  Germany,  and  our  great  whirlpool  of  St.  James.  You 
could  do  it,  my  dear  friend ;  but  where  is  the  other  dare  attempt 
it? 

Until  I  hear  from  you  again  I  can  come  to  no  resolution.     One 


SOME  LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  DIPLOMATIC  LIFE.     91 

thing  is  clear,  —  they  do  not,  or  they  wiU  not,  see  the  danger  I  have 
pointed  out  to  them.  AU  the  home  policy  of  our  country  is  drift- 
ing, day  by  day,  towards  a  democracy  :  how,  in  the  name  of  com- 
mon sense,  then,  is  our  foreign  policy  to  be  maintained  at  the 
standard  of  the  Holy  Alliance  ?  What  an  absurd  juxtaposition  is 
there  between  popular  rights  and  an  alliance  with  the  Czar  !  This 
peril  will  overtake  them  one  day  or  another,  and  then,  to  escape 
from  national  mdignation,  the  minister,  whoever  he  may  be,  will 
be  driven  to  make  war.  But  I  can't  wait  for  this ;  and  yet,  were 
I  to  resign,  my  resignation  would  not  embarrass  them,  —  it  would 
irritate  and  annoy,  but  not  disconcert.  Brekenoff  will  surely  go 
home  on  leave.  You  ought  to  meet  him ;  he  is  certain  to  be  at 
Ems.  It  is  the  refuge  of  disgraced  diplomacy.  Try  if  something 
cannot  be  done  with  him.  He  used  to  say  formerly  yours  were 
the  only  dinners  now  in  Europe.  He  hates  AUington.  This  feel- 
ing, and  his  love  for  white  truffles,  are,  I  believe,  the  only  clews  to 
the  man.  Be  sure,  however,  that  the  truffles  are  Piedmontese: 
they  have  a  slight  flavor  of  garlic,  rather  agreeable  than  otherwise. 
Like  Josephine's  lisp,  it  is  a  defect  that  serves  for  a  distinction. 
The  article  in  the  "  Beau  Monde  "  was  clever,  prettily  written,  and 
even  well  worked  out ;  but  state  affairs  are  never  really  well  treated 
save  by  those  who  conduct  them.  One  must  have  played  the  game 
himself  to  understand  all  the  nice  subtleties  of  the  contest.  These, 
your  mere  reviewer  or  newspaper  scribe  never  attains  to ;  and  then 
he  has  no  reserves,  — none  of  those  mysterious  concealments  that 
are  to  negotiations  like  the  eloquent  pauses  of  conversation  :  the 
moment  when  dialogue  ceases,  and  the  real  interchange  of  ideas 
begins. 

The  fine  touch,  the  keen  apergu,  belongs  alone  to  those  who 
have  had  to  exercise  these  same  qualities  in  the  treatment  of  great 
questions  ;  and  hence  it  is  that  though  the  Public  be  often  much 
struck,  and  even  enlightened,  by  the  powerful  "  article  "  or  the  able 
"  leader,"  the  Statesman  is  rarely  taught  anything  by  the  journalist, 
save  the  force  and  direction  of  public  opinion. 

I  had  a  deal  to  say  to  you  about  poor  Glencore,  whom  you  tell 
me  you  remember ;  but,  how  to  say  it  ?  He  is  broken-hearted  — 
literally  broken-hearted  —  by  her  desertion  of  him.  It  was  one  of 
those  ill-assorted  leagues  which  cannot  hold  together.  Why  they 
did  not  see  this,  and  make  the  best  of  it,  —  sensibly,  dispassion- 
ately, even  amicably,  —  it  is  difficult  to  say.  An  Englishman,  it 
would  seem,  must  always  hate  his  wife  if  she  cannot  love  him ; 
and,  after  all,  how  involuntary  are  all  affections,  and  what  a  severe 
penalty  is  this  for  an  unwitting  offence  ! 

He  ponders  over  this  calamity  just  as  if  it  were  the  crushing 
stroke  by  which  a  man's  whole  career  was  to  be  finished  forever. 


92         THE  FOETimES  OF  GLENCORE. 

The  stupidity  of  all  stupidities  is  in  these  cases  to  fly  from  the 
world  and  avoid  society.  By  doing  this  a  man  rears  a  barrier  he 
never  can  repass  ;  he  proclaims  aloud  his  sentiment  of  the  injury, 
quite  forgetting  all  the  offence  he  is  giving  to  the  hundred  and 
fifty  others  who,  in  the  same  predicament  as  himself,  are  by  no 
means  disposed  to  turn  hermits  on  account  of  it.  Men  make  revo- 
lutionary governments,  smash  dynasties,  transgress  laws,  but  they 
cannot  oppose  convenances! 

I  need  scarcely  say  that  there  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  reason- 
ing with  him.  He  has  worked  himself  up  to  a  chronic  fury,  and 
talks  of  vengeance  all  day  long,  like  a  Corsican.  For  company 
here  I  have  an  old  brother  officer  of  my  days  of  tinsel  and  pipe-clay, 
—  an  excellent  creature,  whom  I  amuse  myself  by  tormenting. 
There  is  also  Glencore's  boy,  —  a  strange,  dreamy  kind  of  haughty 
fellow,  an  exaggeration  of  his  father  in  disposition,  but  with  good 
abilities.  These  are  not  the  elements  of  much  social  agreeability ; 
but  you  know,  dear  friend,  how  little  I  stand  in  need  of  what  is 
called  company.  Youx  last  letter,  charming  as  it  was,  has  afforded 
me  all  the  companionship  I  could  desire.  I  have  re-read  it  till  I 
know  it  by  heart.  I  could  almost  chide  you  for  that  delightful 
little  party  in  my  absence,  but  of  course  it  was,  as  all  you  ever  do 
is,  perfectly  right ;  and,  after  all,  I  am,  perhaps,  not  sorry  that  you 
had  those  people  when  I  was  away,  so  that  we  shall  be  more  chez 
nous  when  we  meet.  But  when  is  that  to  be  ?  Who  can  tell  ?  My 
medico  insists  upon  five  full  weeks  for  my  cure.  AUington  is  very 
likely,  in  his  present  temper,  to  order  me  back  to  my  post.  You 
seem  to  think  that  you  must  be  in  Berlin  when  Seckendorf  arrives, 
so  that —  But  I  will  not  darken  the  future  by  gloomy  fore- 
bodings. I  could  leave  this  — that  is,  if  any  urgency  required  it  — 
at  once ;  but,  if  possible,  it  is  better  I  should  remain  at  least  a 
little  longer.  My  last  meeting  with  Glencore  was  unpleasant. 
Poor  fellow !  his  temper  is  not  what  it  used  to  be,  and  he  is  forget- 
ful of  what  is  due  to  one  whose  nerves  are  in  the  sad  state  of 
mine.  You  shall  hear  all  my  complainings  when  we  meet,  dear 
Princess ;  and  with  this  I  kiss  your  hand,  begging  you  to  accept  all 
"  mes  hommaqes "  et  man  estime. 

H.  U. 

Your  letter  must  be  addressed  "  Leenane,  Ireland."  Your  last 
had  only  "  Glencore  "  on  it,  and  not  very  legible  either,  so  that  it 
made  what  I  wished  /  could  do,  "  the  tour  of  Scotland,"  before 
reaching  me. 

Sir  Horace  read  over  his  letter  carefully,  as  though  it  had 
been  a  despatch,  and,  when  he  had  done,  folded  it  up  with 


SOME  LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  DIPLOMATIC  LIFE.     93 

an  air  of  satisfaction.  He  had  said  nothing  that  he  wished 
unsaid,  and  he  had  mentioned  a  little  about  everything  he 
desired  to  touch  upon.  He  then  took  his  ''drops"  from  a 
queer-looking  little  phial  he  carried  about  with  him,  and  hav- 
ing looked  at  his  face  in  a  pocket-glass,  he  half  closed  his 
eyes  in  revery. 

Strange,  confused  visions  were  they  that  flitted  through 
his  brain.  Thoughts  of  ambition  the  most  daring,  fancies 
about  health,  speculations  in  politics,  finance,  religion,  liter- 
ature, the  arts,  society,  —  all  came  and  went.  Plans  and 
projects  jostled  each  other  at  every  instant.  Now  his  brow 
would  darken,  and  his  thin  lips  close  tightly,  as  some  painful 
impression  crossed  him ;  now  again  a  smile,  a  slight  laugh 
even,  betrayed  the  passing  of  some  amusing  conception.  It 
was  easy  to  see  how  such  a  nature  could  suffice  to  itself,  and 
how  little  he  needed  of  that  give-and-take  which  companion- 
ship supplies.  He  could  —  to  steal  a  figure  from  our  steam 
language  —  he  could  "bank  his  fires,"  and  await  any  emer- 
gency, and,  while  scarcely  consuming  any  fuel,  prepare  for 
the  most  trying  demand  upon  his  powers.  A  hasty  move- 
ment of  feet  overhead,  and  the  sound  of  voices  talking  loudly, 
aroused  him  from  his  reflections,  while  a  servant  entered 
abruptly  to  say  that  Lord  Glencore  wished  to  see  him 
immediately. 

" Is  his  Lordship  worse? "  asked  Upton. 

"  No,  sir ;  but  he  was  very  angry  with  the  young  lord  this 
evening  about  something,  and  they  say  that  with  the  passion 
he  opened  the  bandage  on  his  head,  and  set  the  vein  a-bleed- 
ing  again.     Billy  Traynor  is  there  now  trying  to  stop  it." 

"  I'll  go  upstairs,"  said  Sir  Horace,  rising,  and  beginning 
to  fortify  himself  with  caps,  and  capes,  and  comforters,  — 
precautions  that  he  never  omitted  when  moving  from  one 
room  to  the  other. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A    NIGHT   AT    SEA. 

Glencore's  chamber  presented  a  scene  of  confusion  and 
dismay  as  Upton  entered.  The  sick  man  had  torn  off  the 
bandage  from  his  temples,  and  so  roughly  as  to  reopen 
the  half-closed  artery,  and  renew  the  bleeding.  Not  alone  the 
bedclothes  and  the  curtains,  but  the  faces  of  the  attendants 
around  him,  were  stained  with  blood,  which  seemed  the  more 
ghastly  from  contrast  with  their  pallid  cheeks.  They  moved 
hurriedly  to  and  fro,  scarcely  remembering  what  they  were 
in  search  of,  and  evidently  deeming  his  state  of  the  greatest 
peril.  Traynor,  the  only  one  whose  faculties  were  unshaken 
by  the  shock,  sat  quietly  beside  the  bed,  his  fingers  firmly 
compressed  upon  the  orifice  of  the  vessel,  while  with  the  other 
hand  he  motioned  to  them  to  keep  silence. 

Glencore  lay  with  closed  eyes,  breathing  long  and  labored 
inspirations,  and  at  times  convulsed  by  a  slight  shivering. 
His  face,  and  even  his  lips,  were  bloodless,  and  his  eyelids 
of  a  pale,  livid  hue.  So  terribly  like  the  approach  of  death 
was  his  whole  appearance  that  Upton  whispered  in  the 
doctor's  ear,  — 

*'  Is  it  over?     Is  he  dying?  " 

"No,  Upton,"  said  Glencore;  for,  with  the  acute  hearing 
of  intense  nervousness,  he  had  caught  the  words.  *'  It  is 
not  so  easy  to  die." 

"There,  now, — no  more  talkin',  —  no  discoorsin*  —  azy 
and  quiet  is  now  the  word." 

"  Bind  it  up  and  leave  me,  — leave  me  with  Mm;  "  and 
Glencore  pointed  to  Upton. 

"  I  dar'  n't  move  out  of  this  spot,"  said  Billy,  addressing 
Upton.  "You'd  have  the  blood  coming  out,  j9er  saltimf  if 
I  took  away  my  finger." 


A  NIGHT  AT   SEA.  95 

''You  must  be  patient,  Glencore,"  said  Upton,  gently; 
"you  know  I'm  always  ready  when  you  want  me." 

''And  you'll  not  leave  this, — you'll  not  desert  me?" 
cried  the  other,  eagerly. 

"  Certainly  not;  I  have  no  thought  of  going  away." 

"There,  now,  hould  your  prate,  both  of  ye,  or,  by  my 
conscience,  I  '11  not  take  the  responsibility  upon  me,  —  I  will 
not!"  said  Billy,  angrily.  " 'T  is  just  a  disgrace  and  a 
shame  that  ye  haven't  more  discretion." 

Glencore's  lips  moved  with  a  feeble  attempt  at  a  smile, 
and  in  his  faint  voice  he  said,  — 

"We  must  obey  the  doctor,  Upton;  but  don't  leave 
me." 

Upton  moved  a  chair  to  the  bedside,  and  sat  down  without 
a  word. 

"Ye  think  an  artery  is  like  a  canal,  with  a  lock-gate 
to  it,  I  believe,"  said  Billy,  in  a  low,  grumbling  voice,  to 
Upton,  "  and  you  forget  all  its  vermicular  motion,  as  ould 
Fabricius  called  it,  and  that  it  is  only  by  a  coagalum,  a  kind 
of  barrier,  like  a  mud  breakwater,  that  it  can  be  plugged. 
Be  off  out  of  that,  ye  spalpeens!  be  off,  every  one  of  yez, 
and  leave  us  tranquil  and  paceable !  " 

This  summary  command  was  directed  to  the  various  ser- 
vants, who  were  still  moving  about  the  room  in  imaginary 
occupation.  The  room  was  at  last  cleared  of  all  save  Upton 
and  Billy,  who  sat  by  the  bedside,  his  hand  still  resting  on 
the  sick  man's  forehead.  Soothed  by  the  stillness,  and 
reduced  by  the  loss  of  blood,  Glencore  sank  into  a  quiet 
sleep,  breathing  softly  and  gently  as  a  child. 

"Look  at  him  now,"  whispered  Billy  to  Upton,  "and 
you  '11  see  what  philosophy  there  is  in  ascribin'  to  the  heart 
the  source  of  all  our  emotions.  He  lies  there  azy  and  com- 
fortable just  because  the  great  bellows  is  working  smoothly 
and  quietly.  They  talk  about  the  brain,  and  the  spinal 
nerves,  and  the  soliar  plexus ;  but  give  a  man  a  wake,  washy 
circulation,  and  what  is  he  ?  He 's  just  like  a  chap  with  the 
finest  intentions  in  the  world,  but  not  a  sixpence  in  his 
pocket  to  carry  them  out!  A  fine  well-regulated,  steady- 
batin'  heart  is  like  a  credit  on  the  bank,  —  you  draw  on  it, 
and  your  draft  is  n't  dishonored  !  " 


96         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

''  What  was  it  brought  on  this  attack?  "  asked  Upton,  in 
a  whisper. 

''A  shindy  he  had  with  the  boy.  I  was  n't  here;  theje 
was  nobody  by.  But  when  I  met  Master  Charles  on  the 
stairs,  he  flew  past  me  like  lightning,  and  I  just  saw  by  a 
glimpse  that  something  was  wrong.  He  rushed  out  with  his 
head  bare,  and  his  coat  all  open,  and  it  sleetin'  terribly! 
Down  he  went  towards  the  lough,  at  full  speed,  and  never 
minded  all  my  callin'  after  him.'* 

"  Has  he  returned?  "  asked  Upton. 

''  Not  as  I  know,  sir.  We  were  too  much  taken  up  with 
the  lord  to  ask  for  him." 

'*  I  '11  just  step  down  and  see,"  said  Sir  Horace,  who  arose, 
and  left  the  room  on  tiptoe. 

To  Upton's  inquiry  all  made  the  same  answer.  None  had 
seen  the  young  lord,  —  none  could  give  any  clew  as  to 
whither  he  had  gone.  Sir  Horace  at  once  hastened  to 
Harcourt's  room,  and,  after  some  vigorous  shakes,  succeeded 
in  awakening  the  Colonel,  and  by  dint  of  various  repetitions 
at  last  put  him  in  possession  of  all  that  had  occurred. 

''  We  must  look  after  the  lad,"  cried  Harcourt,  springing 
from  his  bed,  and  dressing  with  all  haste.  ''He  is  a  rash, 
hot-headed  fellow ;  but  even  if  it  were  nothing  else,  he  might 
get  his  death  in  such  a  night  as  this." 

The  wind  dashed  wildly  against  the  window-panes  as  he 
spoke,  and  the  old  timbers  of  the  frame  rattled  fearfully. 

"Do  you  remain  here,  Upton.  I'll  go  in  search  of  the 
boy.  Take  care  Glencore  hears  nothing  of  his  absence." 
And  with  a  promptitude  that  bespoke  the  man  of  action, 
Harcourt  descended  the  stairs  and  set  out. 

The  night  was  pitch  dark ;  sweeping  gusts  of  wind  bore 
the  rain  along  in  torrents,  and  the  thunder  rolled  incessantly, 
its  clamor  increased  by  the  loud  beating  of  the  waves  as 
they  broke  upon  the  rocks.  Upton  had  repeated  to  Harcourt 
that  Billy  saw  the  boy  going  towards  the  sea-shore,  and  in 
this  direction  he  now  followed.  His  frequent  excursions  had 
familiarized  him  with  the  place,  so  that  even  at  night 
Harcourt  found  no  difficulty  in  detecting  the  path  and  keep- 
ing it.  About  half  an  hour's  brisk  walking  brought  him  to 
the  side  of  the  lough,  and  the  narrow  flight  of  steps  cut  in 


A  NIGHT  AT  SEA.  97 

the  rock,  which  descended  to  the  little  boat-quay.  Here  he 
halted,  and  called  out  the  boy's  name  several  times.  The 
sea,  however,  was  running  mountains  high,  and  an  immense 
drift,  sweeping  over  the  rocks,  fell  in  sheets  of  scattered 
foam  beyond  them ;  so  that  Harcourt's  voice  was  drowned 
by  the  uproar.  A  small  shealing  under  the  shelter  of  the 
rock  formed  the  home  of  a  boatman ;  and  at  the  crazy  door 
of  this  humble  cot  Harcourt  now  knocked  violently. 

The  man  answered  the  summons  at  once,  assuring  him 
that  he  had  not  heard  or  seen  any  one  since  the  night  closed 
in ;  adding,  at  the  same  time,  that  in  such  a  tempest  a  boat's 
crew  might  have  landed  without  his  knowing  it. 

"To  be  sure,"  continued  he,  after  a  pause,  "I  heard  a 
chain  rattlin'  on  the  rock  soon  after  I  went  to  bed,  and  I  '11 
just  step  down  and  see  if  the  yawl  is  all  right." 

Scarcely  had  he  left  the  spot,  when  his  voice  was  heard 
calling  out  from  below,  — 

' '  She 's  gone !  the  yawl  is  gone !  the  lock  is  broke  with 
a  stone,  and  she  's  away  !  " 

"  How  could  '^iiis  be?  No  boat  could  live  in  such  a  sea," 
cried  Harcourt,  eagerly. 

"  She  could  go  out  fast  enough,  sir.  The  wind  is  north- 
east, due ;  but  how  long  she  '11  keep  the  say  is  another 
matter." 

"  Then  he  '11  be  lost !  "  cried  Harcourt,  wildly. 

"  Who,  sir,  —  who  is  it?  "  asked  the  man. 

"Your  master's  son!"  cried  he,  wringing  his  hands  in 
anguish. 

"  Oh,  murther !  murther !  "  screamed  the  boatman  ;  "  we  '11 
never  see  him  again.  '  T  is  out  to  say,  into  the  wild  ocean, 
he  '11  be  blown  !  " 

"  Is  there  no  shelter,  —  no  spot  he  could  make  for?  " 

"Barrin'  the  islands,  there's  not  a  spot  between  this  and 
America." 

"  But  he  could  make  the  islands,  —  you  are  sure  of  that?  " 

' '  If  the  boat  was  able  to  live  through  the  say.  But  sure 
I  know  him  well ;  he  '11  never  take  in  a  reef  or  sail,  but  sit 
there,  with  the  helm  hard  up,  just  never  carin'  what  came  of 
him  !  Oh,  musha !  musha !  what  druv  him  out  such  a  night 
as  this!-" 

7 


98         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"Come,  it's  no  time  for  lamenting,  my  man;  get  the 
launch  ready,  and  let  us  follow  him.     Are  you  afraid  ?  " 

"  Afraid !  "  replied  the  man,  with  a  touch  of  scorn  in  his 
voice;  "  faix,  it's  little  fear  troubles  me.  But,  may  be, 
you  won't  like  to  be  in  her  yourself  when  she  's  once  out. 
I  've  none  belongin'  to  me,  —  father,  mother,  chick  or  child  ; 
but  you  may  have  many  a  one  that 's  near  to  you." 

''My  ties,  are,  perhaps,  as  light  as  your  own,"  said 
Harcourt.  "Come,  now,  be  alive.  I'll  put  ten  gold 
guineas  in  your  hand  if  you  can  overtake  him." 

"I'd  rather  see  his  face  than  have  two  hundred,"  said 
the  man,  as,  springing  into  the  boat,  he  began  to  haul  out 
the  tackle  from  under  the  low  half -deck,  and  prepare  for  sea. 

"  Is  your  honor  used  to  a  boat,  or  ought  I  to  get  another 
man  with  me  ?  "  asked  the  sailor. 

"  Trust  me,  my  good  fellow ;  I  have  had  more  sailing  than 
yourself,  and  in  more  treacherous  seas  too,"  said  Harcourt, 
who,  throwing  off  his  cloak,  proceeded  to  help  the  other,  with 
an  address  that  bespoke  a  practised  hand. 

The  wind  blew  strongly  off  the  shore,  so  that  scarcely 
was  the  foresail  spread  than  the  boat  began  to  move  rapidly 
through  the  water,  dashing  the  sea  over  her  bows,  and 
plunging  wildly  through  the  waves. 

"  Give  me  a  hand  now  with  the  halyard,"  said  the  boat- 
man ;  "  and  when  the  mainsail  is  set,  you  '11  see  how  she  '11 
dance  over  the  top  of  the  waves,  and  never  wet  us." 

"  She  's  too  light  in  the  water,  if  anything,"  said  Harcourt, 
as  the  boat  bounded  buoyantly  under  the  increased  press 
of  canvas. 

"Your  honor's  right;  she'd  do  better  with  half  a  ton 
of  iron  in  her.  Stand  by,  sir,  always,  with  the  peak  hal- 
yards ;  get  the  sail  aloft  in,  when  I  give  you  the  word." 

"  Leave  the  tiller  to  me,  my  man,"  said  Harcourt,  taking 
it  as  he  spoke.  "  You  '11  soon  see  that  I'm  no  new  hand  at 
the  work." 

"She's  doing  it  well,"  said  the  man.  "Keep  her  up! 
keep  her  up !  there 's  a  spit  of  land  runs  out  here ;  in  a  few 
minutes  more  we  '11  have  say  room  enough." 

The  heavier  roll  of  the  waves,  and  the  increased  force 
of  the  wind,  soon   showed  that  they  had  gained  the  open 


A  NIGHT  AT  SEA.  99 

sea;  while  the  atmosphere,  relieved  of  the  dark  shadows 
of  the  mountain,  seemed  lighter  and  thinner  than  in  shore. 

"  We  're  to  make  for  the  islands,  you  say,  sir?  " 

*'  Yes.     What  distance  are  they  off  ?  " 

''About  eighteen  miles.  Two  hours,  if  the  wind  lasts, 
and  we  can  bear  it." 

"And  could  the  yawl  stand  this?"  said  Harcourt,  as  a 
heavy  sea  struck  the  bow,  and  came  in  a  cataract  over 
them. 

"  Better  than  ourselves,  if  she  was  manned.  Luff !  luff !  — 
that's  it!"  And  as  the  boat  turned  up  to  wind,  sheets 
of  spray  and  foam  flew  over  her.  "Master  Charles  hasn't 
his  equal  for  steerin',  if  he  wasn't  alone.  Keep  her  there! 
—  now  !  steady,  sir !  " 

"Here's  a  squall  coming,"  cried  Harcourt;  "I  hear  it 
hissing." 

Down  went  the  peak,  but  scarcely  in  time,  for  the  wind, 
catching  the  sail,  laid  the  boat  gunwale  under.  After  a 
struggle,  she  righted,  but  with  nearly  one-third  of  her  filled 
with  water. 

"I'd  take  in  a  reef,  or  two  reefs,"  said  the  man;  "but 
if  she  could  n't  rise  to  the  say,  she  '11  fill  and  go  down.  We 
must  carry  on,  at  all  events." 

"  So  say  I.  It 's  no  time  to  shorten  sail,  with  such  a  sea 
running." 

The  boat  now  flew  through  the  water,  the  sea  itself 
impelling  her,  as  with  every  sudden  gust  the  waves  struck 
the  stern. 

"  She's  a  brave  craft,"  said  Harcourt,  as  she  rose  lightly 
over  the  great  waves,  and  plunged  down  again  into  the 
trough  of  the  sea;  "but  if  we  ever  get  to  land  again,  I'll 
have  combings  round  her  to  keep  her  dryer." 

"  Here  it  comes  !  —  here  it  comes,  sir !  " 

Nor  were  the  words  well  out,  when,  like  a  thunder-clap, 
the  wind  struck  the  sail,  and  bent  the  mast  over  like  a 
whip.  For  an  instant  it  seemed  as  if  she  were  going  down 
by  the  prow ;  but  she  righted  again,  and,  shivering  in  every 
plank,  held  on  her  way. 

"  That 's  as  much  as  she  could  do,"  said  the  sailor;  "  and 
I  would  not  like  to  ax  her  to  do  more." 


100        THE  FOKTUNES  OF  GLENCOKE. 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  said  Harcourt,  secretly  stealing  his 
feet  back  again  into  his  shoes,  which  he  had  just  kicked  off. 

"It's  fresh'ning  it  is  every  minute,"  said  the  man; 
''and  I'm  not  sui-e  that  we  could  make  the  islands  if  it 
lasts." 

i'Well,  — what  then?" 

"There's  nothing  for  it  but  to  be  blown  out  to  say," 
said  he,  calmly,  as,  having  filled  his  tobacco-pipe,  he  struck  a 
light  and  began  to  smoke.  ^ 

"The  very  thing  I  was  wishing  for,"  said  Harcourt, 
touching  his  cigar  to  the  bright  ashes.  "  How  she  labors ! 
Do  you  think  she  can  stand  this  ?  " 

"  She  can,  if  it's  no  worse,  sir." 

"  But  it  looks  heavier  weather  outside." 

"  As  well  as  I  can  see,  it's  only  beginnin'." 

Harcourt  listened  with  a  species  of  admiration  to  the 
calm  and  measured  sentiment  of  the  sailor,  who,  fully 
conscious  of  all  the  danger,  yet  never,  by  a  word  or  gesture, 
showed  that  he  was  flurried  or  excited. 

"You  have  been  out  on  nights  as  bad  as  this,  I  sup- 
pose ?  "  said  Harcourt. 

' '  Maybe  not  quite,  sir,  for  it 's  a  great  say  is  runnin' ; 
and,  with  the  wind  off  shore,  we  could  n't  have  this,  if  there 
was  n't  a  storm  blowing  farther  out." 

"  From  the  westward,  you  mean?  " 

"Yes,  sir,  —  a  wind  coming  over  the  whole  ocean,  that 
will  soon  meet  the  land   wind." 

"  And  does  that  often  happen?" 

The  words  were  but  out,  when,  with  a  loud  report  like  a 
cannon-shot,  the  wind  reversed  the  sail,  snapping  the  strong 
sprit  in  two,  and  bringing  down  the  whole  canvas  clattering 
into  the  boat.  With  the  aid  of  a  hatchet,  the  sailor  struck 
off  the  broken  portion  of  the  spar,  and  soon  cleared  the 
wreck,  while  the  boat,  now  reduced  to  a  mere  foresail, 
labored  heavily,  sinking  her  prow  in  the  sea  at  every  bound. 
Her  course,  too,  was  now  altered,  and  she  flew  along  parallel 
to  the  shore,  the  great  cliffs  looming  through  the  darkness, 
and  seeming  as  if  close  to  them. 

"The  boy! — the  boy!"  cried  Harcourt;  "what  has 
become  of  him?  He  never  could  have  lived  through  that 
squall." 


A  NIGHT  AT   SEA.  101 

"  If  the  spar  stood,  there  was  an  end  of  us,  too,"  said 
the  sailor;  "she'd  have  gone  down  by  the  stern,  as  sure  as 
my  name  is  Peter." 

"It  is  ail  over  by  this  time,"  muttered  Harcourt, 
sorrowfully. 

"  Pace  to  him  now!  "  said  the  sailor,  as  he  crossed  him- 
self, and  went  over  a  prayer. 

The  wind  now  raged  fearfully ;  claps,  like  the  report  of 
cannon,  struck  the  frail  boat  at  intervals,  and  laid  her  nearly 
keel  uppermost ;  while  the  mast  bent  like  a  whip,  and  every 
rope  creaked  and  strained  to  its  last  endurance.  The  deaf- 
ening noise  close  at  hand  told  where  the  waves  were  beating 
on  the  rock-bound  coast,  or  surging  with  the  deep  growl  of 
thunder  through  many  a  cavern.  They  rarely  spoke,  save 
when  some  emergency  called  for  a  word.  Each  sat  wrapped 
up  in  his  own  dark  reveries,  and  unwilling  to  break  them. 
Hours  passed  thus, — long,  dreary  hours  of  darkness,  that 
seemed  like  years  of  suffering,  so  often  in  this  interval  did 
life  hang  in  the  balance. 

As  morning  began  to  break  with  a  grayish  blue  light  to 
the  westward,  the  wind  slightly  abated,  blowing  more  stead- 
ily, too,  and  less  in  sudden  gusts ;  while  the  sea  rolled  in 
large  round  waves,  unbroken  above,  and  showing  no  crest 
of  foam. 

"  Do  you  know  where  we  are?  "  asked  Harcourt. 

"Yes,  sir;  we  're  off  the  Rooks'  Point,  and  if  we  hold  on 
well,  we  '11  soon  be  in  slacker  water." 

"  Could  the  boy  have  reached  this,  think  you?  " 

The  man  shook  his  head  mournfully,  without  speaking. 

"  How  far  are  we  from  Grlencore?  " 

"About  eighteen  miles,  sk;  but  more  by  land." 

"  You  can  put  me  ashore,  then,  somewhere  hereabouts." 

"  Yes,  sir,  in  the  next  bay ;  there 's  a  creek  we  can  easily 
run  into." 

"  You  are  quite  sure  he  could  n't  have  been  blown  out  to 
sea?" 

"How  could  he,  sir?  There's  only  one  way  the  wind 
could  dhrive  him.  If  he  is  n't  in  the  Clough  Bay,  he 's  in 
glory." 

All  the  anxiety  of  that  dreary  night  was  nothing  to  what 


102        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

Harcourt  now  suffered,  in  his  eagerness  to  round  the  Rooks* 
Point,  and  look  in  the  bay  beyond  it.  Controlling  it  as  he 
would,  still  would  it  break  out  in  words  of  impatience  and 
even  anger. 

"Don't  curse  the  boat,  yer  honor,"  said  Peter,  respect- 
fully, but  calmly;  "  she  's  behaved  well  to  us  this  night,  or 
we  'd  not  be  here  now." 

"But  are  we  to  beat  about  here  forever?"  asked  the 
other,  angrily. 

"  She 's  doin'  well,  and  we  ought  to  be  thankful,"  said  the 
man ;  and  his  tone,  even  more  than  his  words,  served  to  re- 
prove the  other's  impatience.  "I'll  try  and  set  the  main- 
sail on  her  with  the  remains  of  the  sprit." 

Harcourt  watched  him,  as  he  labored  away  to  repair  the 
damaged  rigging ;  but  though  he  looked  at  him,  his  thoughts 
were  far  away  with  poor  Glencore  upon  his  sick  bed,  in 
sorrow  and  in  suffering,  and  perhaps  soon  to  hear  that  he 
was  childless.  From  these  he  went  on  to  other  thoughts. 
"What  could  have  occurred  to  have  driven  the  boy  to  such  an 
act  of  desperation?  Harcourt  invented  a  hundred  imaginary 
causes,  to  reject  them  as  rapidly  again.  The  affection  the 
boy  bore  to  his  father  seemed  the  strongest  principle  of  his 
nature.  There  appeared  to  be  no  event  possible  in  which 
that  feeling  would  not  sway  and  control  him.  As  he  thus 
ruminated,  he  was  aroused  by  the  sudden  cry  of  the 
boatman. 

"  There 's  a  boat,  sir,  dismasted,  ahead  of  us,  and  drifting 
out  to  say." 

"  1  see  her !  —  I  see  her !  "  cried  Harcourt ;  "out  with  the 
oars,  and  let's  pull  for  her." 

Heavily  as  the  sea  was  rolling,  they  now  began  to  pull 
through  the  immense  waves,  Harcourt  turning  his  head  at 
every  instant  to  watch  the  boat,  which  now  was  scarcely  half 
a  mile  ahead  of  them. 

"She's  empty! — there's  no  one  in. her!"  said  Peter, 
mournfully,  as,  steadying  himself  by  the  mast,  he  cast  a 
look  seaward. 

"  Row  on,  — let  us  get  beside  her,"  said  Harcourt. 

"  She 's  the  yawl !  —  I  know  her  now,"  cried  the  man. 

"And  empty?" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A    "vow"   ACCOMPLISHED. 

Just  as  Upton  had  seated  himself  at  that  frugal  meal  of 
weak  tea  and  dry  toast  he  called  his  breakfast,  Harcourt  sud- 
denly entered  the  room,  splashed  and  road-stained  from  head 
to  foot,  and  in  his  whole  demeanor  indicating  the  work  of  a 
fatiguing  journey. 

''  Why,  I  thought  to  have  had  my  breakfast  with  you," 
cried  he,  impatiently,  "  and  this  is  like  the  diet  of  a  conva- 
lescent from  fever.  Where  is  the  salmon  —  where  the  grouse 
pie  —  where  are  the  cutlets  —  and  the  chocolate  —  and  the 
poached  eggs  —  and  the  hot  rolls,  and  the  cherry  bounce  ?  " 

''Say,  rather,  where  are  the  disordered  livers,  worn-out 
stomachs,  fevered  brains,  and  impatient  tempers,  my  worthy 
Colonel?"  said  Upton,  blandly.  "  Talleyrand  himself  once 
told  me  that  he  always  treated  great  questions  starving." 

"  And  he  made  a  nice  mess  of  the  world  in  consequence," 
blustered  out  Harcourt.  "A  fellow  with  an  honest  appe- 
tite and  a  sound  digestion  would  never  have  played  false 
to  so  many  masters." 

"  It  is  quite  right  that  men  like  you  should  read  history  in 
this  wise,"  said  Upton,  smiling,  as  he  dipped  a  crust  in  his 
tea  and  ate  it. 

"Men  like  me  are  very  inferior  creatures,  no  doubt," 
broke  in  Harcourt,  angrily ;  "  but  I  very  much  doubt  if  men 
like  you  had  come  eighteen  miles  on  foot  over  a  mountain 
this  morning,  after  a  night  passed  in  an  open  boat  at  sea,  — 
ay,  in  a  gale,  by  Jove,  such  as  I  sha'  n't  forget  in  a  hurry." 

"You  have  hit  it  perfectly,  Harcourt;  suumcuique;  and  if 
only  we  could  get  the  world  to  see  that  each  of  us  has  his 
speciality,  we  should  all  of  us  do  much  better." 

By  the  vigorous  tug  he  gave  the  bell,  and  the  tone  in  which 
he  ordered  up  something  to  eat,  it  was  plain  to  see  that  he 


A  "VOW"  ACCOMPLISHED.  105 

scarcely  relished  the  moral  Upton  had  applied  to  his  speech. 
With  the  appearance  of  the  good  cheer,  however,  he  speedily 
threw  off  his  momentary  displeasure,  and  as  he  ate  and 
drank,  his  honest,  manly  face  lost  every  trace  of  annoyance. 
Once  only  did  a  passing  shade  of  anger  cross  his  counte- 
nance. It  was  when,  suddenly  looking  up,  he  saw  Upton's 
eyes  settled  on  him,  and  his  whole  features  expressing  a 
most  palpable  sensation  of  wonderment  and  compassion. 

"Ay,"  cried  he,  "I  know  well  what's  passing  in  your 
mind  this  minute.  You  are  lost  in  your  pitying  estimate  of 
such  a  mere  animal  as  I  am ;  but,  hang  it  all,  old  fellow, 
why  not  be  satisfied  with  the  flattering  thought  that  you  are 
of  another  stamp,  — a  creature  of  a  different  order?  " 

"It  does  not  make  one  a  whit  happier,"  sighed  Upton, 
who  never  shrunk  from  accepting  the  sentiment  as  his 
own. 

"I  should  have  thought  otherwise,"  said  Harcourt,  with 
a  malicious  twinkle  of  the  eye ;  for  he  fancied  that  he  had  at 
last  touched  the  weak  point  of  his  adversary. 

'• '  No,  my  dear  Harcourt,  the  crassce  natures  have  rathei 
the  best  of  it,  since  no  small  share  of  this  world's  collisions 
are  actually  physical  shocks ;  and  that  great  strong  pipkin 
that  encloses  your  brains  will  stand  much  that  would  smash 
the  poor  egg-shell  that  shrouds  mine." 

"  Whenever  you  draw  a  comparison  in  my  favor,  I  always 
find  at  the  end  I  come  off  worst,"  said  Harcourt,  bluntly ; 
and  Upton  laughed  one  of  his  rich,  musical  laughs,  in  which 
there  was  indeed  nothing  mirthful,  but  something  that  seemed 
to  say  that  his  nature  experienced  a  sense  of  enjoyment 
higher,  perhaps,  than  anything  merely  comic  could  suggest. 

"You  came  off  best  this  time,  Harcourt,"  said  he,  good- 
humoredly;  and  such  a  thorough  air  of  frankness  accom- 
panied the  words  that  Harcourt  was  disarmed  of  all  distrust 
at  once,  and  joined  in  the  laugh  heartily. 

"  But  you  have  not  yet  told  me,  Harcourt,"  said  the  other, 
"where  you  have  been,  and  why  you  spent  your  night  on 
the  sea." 

"  The  story  is  not  a  very  long  one,"  replied  he ;  and  at  once 
gave  a  full  recital  of  the  events,  which  our  reader  has  already 
had  before  him  in  our  last  chapter,  adding,  in  conclusion, 


106        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

*'I  have  left  the  boy  in  a  cabin  at  Belmullet ;  he  is  in  a  high 
fever,  and  raving  so  loud  that  you  could  hear  him  a  hun- 
dred yards  away.  I  told  them  to  keep  cold  water  on  his 
head,  and  give  him  plenty  of  it  to  drink,  —  nothing  more, 
—  till  I  could  fetch  our  doctor  over,  for  it  will  be  impossible 
to  move  the  boy  from  where  he  is  for  the  present." 

*'  Glencore  has  been  asking  for  him  already  this  morning. 
He  did  not  desire  to  see  him,  but  he  begged  of  me  to  go  to 
him  and  speak  with  him." 

*' And  have  you  told  him  that  he  was  from  home,  — that 
he  passed  the  night  away  from  this  ?  " 

''No;  I  merely  intimated  that  I  should  look  after  him, 
waiting  for  your  return  to  guide  myself  afterwards." 

"  I  don't  suspect  that  when  we  took  him  from  the  boat  the 
malady  had  set  in ;  he  appeared  rather  like  one  overcome 
by  cold  and  exhaustion.  It  was  about  two  hours  after,  —  he 
had  taken  some  food  and  seemed  stronger,  —  when  I  said  to 
him,  '  Come,  Charley,  you  '11  soon  be  all  right  again  ;  I  have 
sent  a  fellow  to  look  after  a  pony  for  you,  and  you  '11  be  able 
to  ride  back,  won't  you?  ' 

"  '  Ride  where?  '  cried  he,  eagerly. 

"  '  Home,  of  course,'  said  I,  '  to  Glencore.' 

"  '  Home  !  I  have  no  home,'  cried  he  ;  and  the  wild  scream 
he  uttered  the  words  with,  I  '11  never  forget.  It  was  just  as 
if  that  one  thought  was  the  boundary  between  sense  and 
reason,  and  the  instant  he  had  passed  it,  all  was  chaos  and 
confusion ;  for  now  his  raving  began,  —  the  most  frantic 
imaginations ;  always  images  of  sorrow,  and  with  a  rapid- 
ity of  utterance  there  was  no  following.  Of  course  in  such 
cases  the  delusions  suggest  no  clew  to  the  cause,  but  all  his 
fancies  were  about  being  driven  out  of  doors  an  outcast  and 
a  beggar,  and  of  his  father  rising  from  his  sick  bed  to  curse 
him.  Poor  boy !  Even  in  this  his  better  nature  gleamed 
forth  as  he  cried,  '  Tell  him '  —  and  he  said  the  words  in  a 
low  whisper —  '  tell  him  not  to  anger  himself ;  he  is  ill,  very 
ill,  and  should  be  kept  tranquil.  Tell  him,  then,  that  I  an\ 
going  —  going  away  forever,  and  he'll  hear  of  me  no 
more. '  "  As  Harcourt  repeated  the  words,  his  own  voice 
faltered,  and  two  heavy  drops  slowly  coursed  down  his 
bronzed  cheeks.     "  You  see,"  added  he,  as  if  to  excuse  the 


A  "VOW"  ACCOMPLISHED.  107 

emotion,  '*  that  was  n't  like  raving,  for  he  spoke  this  just  as 
he  might  have  done  if  his  very  heart  was  breaking." 

''  Poor  fellow  !  "  said  Upton ;  and  the  words  were  uttered 
with  real  feeling. 

"  Some  terrible  scene  must  have  occurred  between  them,'* 
resumed  Harcourt ;   "of  that  I  feel  quite  certain." 

"  I  suspect  you  are  right,"  said  Upton,  bending  over  his 
teacup  ;  ' '  and  our  part,  in  consequence,  is  one  of  consider- 
able delicacy  ;  for  until  Glencore  alludes  to  what  has  passed, 
ive^  of  course,  can  take  no  notice  of  it.  The  boy  is  ill ;  he 
is  in  a  fever:  we  know  nothing  more." 

"  I'll  leave  you  to  deal  with  the  father;  the  son  shall  be 
my  care.  I  have  told  Tray  nor  to  be  ready  to  start  with  me 
after  breakfast,  and  have  ordered  two  stout  ponies  for  the 
journey.  I  conclude  there  will  be  no  objection  in  detaining 
the  doctor  for  the  night :  what  think  you,  Upton  ?  '* 

"  Do  you  consult  the  doctor  on  that  head  ;  meanwhile,  I  '11 
pay  a  visit  to  Glencore.  I'll  meet  you  in  the  library."  And 
so  saying,  Upton  rose,  and  gracefully  draping  the  folds  of 
his  dressing-gown,  and  arranging  the  waving  lock  of  hair 
which  had  escaped  beneath  his  cap,  he  slowly  set  out  towards 
the  sick  man's  chamber. 

Of  all  the  springs  of  human  action,  there  was  not  one  in 
which  Sir  Horace  Upton  sympathized  so  little  as  passion. 
That  any  man  could  adopt  a  line  of  conduct  from  which  no 
other  profit  could  result  than  what  might  minister  to  a  feel- 
ing of  hatred,  jealousy,  or  revenge,  seemed  to  him  utterly 
contemptible.  It  was  not,  indeed,  the  morality  of  such  a 
course  that  he  called  in  question,  although  he  would  not  have 
contested  that  point.  It  was  its  meanness,  its  folly,  its 
insufficiency.  His  experience  of  great  affairs  had  imbued 
him  with  all  the  importance  that  was  due  to  temper  and  mod- 
eration. He  scarcely  remembered  an  instant  where  a  false 
move  had  damaged  a  negotiation  that  it  could  not  be  traced 
to  some  passing  trait  of  impatience,  or  some  lurking  spirit 
of  animosity  biding  the  hour  of  its  gratification. 

He  had  long  learned  to  perceive  how  much  more  tem- 
perament has  to  do,  in  the  management  of  great  events, 
than  talent  or  capacity,  and  his  opinion  of  men  was  chiefly 
founded  on  this  quality  of  their  nature.     It  was,  then,  with 


108        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

an  almost  pitying  estimate  of  Glencore  that  he  now  entered 
the  room  where  the  sick  man  lay. 

Anxious  to  be  alone  with  him,  Glencore  had  dismissed 
all  the  attendants  from  his  room,  and  sat,  propped  up  by 
pillows,  eagerly  awaiting  his  approach. 

Upton  moved  through  the  dimly  lighted  room  like  one 
familiar  to  the  atmosphere  of  illness,  and  took  his  seat 
beside  the  bed  with  that  noiseless  quiet  which  in  him  was  a 
kind  of  instinct. 

It  was  several  minutes  before  Glencore  spoke,  and  then, 
in  a  low,  faint  voice,  he  said,  "  Are  we  alone,  Upton  ?  '* 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  gently  pressing  the  wasted  fingers 
which  lay  on  the  counterpane  before  him. 

"  You  forgive  me,  Upton,"  said  he,  — and  the  words  trem- 
bled as  he  uttered  them,  —  "  You  forgive  me,  Upton,  though 
I  cannot  forgive  myself." 

''  My  dear  friend,  a  passing  moment  of  impatience  is  not 
to  breach  the  friendship  of  a  lifetime.  Your  calmer  judg- 
ment would,  I  know,  not  be  unjust  to  me." 

"  But  how  am  I  to  repair  the  wrong  I  have  done  you?" 

''By  never  alluding  to  it,  —  never  thinking  of  it  again, 
Glencore." 

"It  is  so  unworthy,  so  ignoble  in  me!"  cried  Glencore, 
bitterly ;  and  a  tear  fell  over  his  eyelid  and  rested  on  his 
wan  and  worn  cheek. 

"  Let  us  never  think  of  it,  my  dear  Glencore.  Life  has 
real  troubles  enough  for  either  of  us,  not  to  dwell  on  those 
which  we  may  fashion  out  of  our  emotions.  I  promise  you, 
I  have  forgotten  the  whole  incident." 

Glencore  sighed  heavily,  but  did  not  speak;  at  last  he 
said,  ''Be  it  so,  Upton,"  and,  covering  his  face  with  his 
hand,  lay  still  and  silent.  "Well,"  said  he,  after  a  long 
pause,  "  the  die  is  cast,  Upton  :  I  have  told  him !  " 

"  Told  the  boy?"  said  Upton. 

IJe  nodded  an  assent.  "It  is  too  late  to  oppose  me 
now,  Upton,  —  the  thing  is  done.  I  didn't  think  I  had 
strength  for  it ;  but  revenge  is  a  strong  stimulant,  and  I  felt 
as  though  once  more  restored  to  health,  as  I  proceeded. 
Poor  fellow!  he  bore  it  like  a  man.  Like  a  man,  do  I  say? 
No,  but  better  than  man  ever  bore  such  crushing  tidings. 


A   "VOW"  ACCOMPLISHED.  109 

He  asked  me  to  stop  once,  while  his  head  reeled,  and  said, 
'  In  a  minute  I  shall  be  myself  again,'  and  so  he  was,  too ; 
you  should  have  seen  him,  Upton,  as  he  rose  to  leave  me. 
So  much  of  dignity  was  there  in  his  look  that  my  heart 
misgave  me ;  and  I  told  him  that  still,  as  my  son,  he  should 
never  want  a  friend  and  a  protector.  He  grew  deadly  pale, 
and  caught  at  the  bed-  for  support.  Another  moment,  and 
I  'd  not  have  answered  for  myself.  I  was  already  relenting ; 
but  I  thought  of  Aer,  and  my  resolution  came  back  in  all 
its  force.  Still,  I  dared  not  look  on  him.  The  sight  of  that 
wan  cheek,  those  quivering  lips  and  glassy  eyes,  would  cer- 
tainly have  unmanned  me.  I  turned  away.  When  I  looked 
round,  he  was  gone !  "  As  he  ceased  to  speak,  a  clammy 
perspiration  burst  forth  over  his  face  and  forehead,  and  he 
made  a  sign  to  Upton  to  wet  his  lips. 

"  It  is  the  last  pang  she  is  to  cost  me,  Upton,  but  it  is  a 
sore  one !  "  said  he,  in  a  low,  hoarse  whisper. 

"My  dear  Glencore,  this  is  all  little  short  of  madness; 
even  as  revenge  it  is  a  failure,  since  the  heaviest  share  of 
the  penalty  recoils  upon  yourself." 

''  How  so?  "  cried  he,  impetuously. 

"Is  it  thus  that  an  ancient  name  is  to  go  out  forever? 
Is  it  in  this  wise  that  a  house  noble  for  centuries  is  to 
crumble  into  ruin?  I  will  not  again  urge  upon  you  the 
cruel  wrong  you  are  doing.  Over  that  boy's  inheritance 
you  have  no  more  right  than  over  mine,  —  you  cannot  rob 
him  of  the  protection  of  the  law.  No  power  could  ever  give 
you  the  disposal  of  his  destiny  in  this  wise." 

"I  have  done  it,  and  I  will  maintain  it,  sir,"  cried  Glen- 
core  ;  "  and  if  the  question  is,  as  you  vaguely  hint,  to  be  one 
of  law  —  " 

"  No,  no,  Glencore;  do  not  mistake  me." 

"Hear  me  out,  sir,"  said  he,  passionately.  "  If  it  is  to 
be  one  of  law,  let  Sir  Horace  Upton  give  his  testimony,  — 
tell  all  that  he  knows,  —  and  let  us  see  what  it  will  avail 
him.  You  may  —  it  is  quite  open  to  you  —  place  us  front 
to  front  as  enemies.  You  may  teach  the  boy  to  regard  me 
as  one  who  has  robbed  him  of  his  birthright,  and  train 
him  up  to  become  my  accuser  in  a  court  of  justice.  But 
my  cause  is  a  strong  one,  it  cannot  be  shaken ;  and  where 
you  hope  to  brand  me  with  tyranny,  you  will  but  visit  bas- 


110        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

tardy  upon  him.  Think  twice,  then,  before  you  declare 
this  combat.  It  is  one  where  all  your  craft  will  not  sustain 
you." 

"My  dear  Glencore,  it  is  not  in  this  spirit  that  we  can 
speak  profitably  to  each  other.  It  you  will  not  hear  my 
reasons  calmly  and  dispassionately,  to  what  end  am  I  here  ? 
You  have  long  known  me  as  one  who  lays  claim  to  no  more 
rigid  morality  than  consists  with  the  theory  of  a  worldly 
man's  experiences.  I  affect  no  high-flown  sentiments.  I 
am  as  plain  and  practical  as  may  be ;  and  when  I  tell  you 
that  you  are  wrong  in  this  affair,  I  mean  to  say  that  what 
you  are, about  to  do  is  not  only  bad,  but  impolitic.  In  your 
pursuit  of  a  victim,  you  are  immolating  yourself." 

"Be  it  so;  I  go  not,  alone  to  the  stake;  there  is  another 
to  partake  of  the  torture,"  cried  Glencore,  wildly ;  and  al- 
ready his  flushed  cheek  and  flashing  eyes  betrayed  the 
approach  of  a  feverish  access. 

"If  I  am  not  to  have  any  influence  with  you,  then," 
resumed  Upton,  "  I  am  here  to  no  purpose.  If  to  all  that 
I  say  —  to  arguments  you  cannot  answer  —  you  obstinately 
persist  in  opposing  an  insane  thirst  for  revenge,  I  see  not 
why  you  should  desire  my  presence.  You  have  resolved 
to  do  this  great  wrong?" 

"  It  is  already  done,  sir,"  broke  in  Glencore. 

"  Wherein,  then,  can  I  be  of  any  service  to  you?  " 

"  I  am  coming  to  that.  I  had  come  to  it  before,  had  you 
not  interrupted  me.  I  want  you  to  be  guardian  to  the  boy. 
I  want  you  to  replace  me  in  all  that  regards  authority  over 
him.  You  know  life  well,  Upton.  You  know  it  not  alone 
in  its  paths  of  pleasure  and  success,  but  you  understand 
thoroughly  the  rugged  footway  over  which  humble  men  toil 
wearily  to  fortune.  None  can  better  estimate  a  man's 
chances  of  success,  nor  more  surely  point  the  road  by  which 
he  is  to  attain  it.  The  provision  which  I  destine  for  him 
will  be  an  humble  one,  and  he  will  need  to  rely  upon  his  own 
efforts.  You  will  not  refuse  me  this  service,  Upton.  I  ask 
it  in  the  name  of  our  old  friendship." 

"There  is  but  one  objection  I  could  possibly  have,  and 
yet  that  seems  to  be  insurmountable.'* 

"  And  what  may  it  be?  "  cried  Glencore. 

"  Simply,  that  in  acceding  to  your  request,  I  make  myself 


A  "VOW"  ACCOMPLISHED.  Ill 

an  accomplice  in  your  plan,  and  thus  aid  and  abet  the  very 
scheme  I  am  repudiating/* 

"  What  avails  youi-  repudiation  if  it  will  not  turn  me  from 
my  resolve  ?  That  it  will  not,  I  '11  swear  to  you  as  solemnly 
as  ever  an  oath  was  taken.  I  tell  you  again,  the  thing  is 
done.  For  the  consequences  which  are  to  follow  on  it  you 
have  no  responsibility ;  these  are  my  concern." 

"  I  should  like  a  little  time  to  think  over  it,"  said  Upton, 
with  the  air  of  one  struggling  with  irresolution.  "  Let  me 
have  this  evening  to  make  up  my  mind ;  to-morrow  you  shall 
have  my  answer." 

''Be  it  so,  then,"  said  Glencore;  and,  turning  his  face 
away,  waved  a  cold  farewell  with  his  hand. 

We  do  not  purpose  to  follow  Sir  Horace  as  he  retired,  nor 
does  our  task  require  that  we  should  pry  into  the  secret 
recesses  of  his  wily  nature ;  enough  if  we  say  that  in  asking 
for  time,  his  purpose  was  rather  to  afford  another  oppor- 
tunity of  reflection  to  Glencore  than  to  give  himself  more 
space  for  deliberation.  ^  He  had  found,  by  the  experience  of 
his  calling,  that  the  delay  we  often  crave  for,  to  resolve  a 
doubt,  has  sufficed  to  change  the  mind  of  him  who  originated 
the  difficulty. 

"I'll  give  him  some  hours,  at  least,"  thought  he,  "to 
ponder  over  what  I  have  said.  Who  knows  but  the  argu- 
ment may  seem  better  in  memory  than  in  action?  Such 
things  have  happened  before  now."  And  having  finished 
this  reflection,  he  turned  to  peruse  the  pamphlet  of  a  quack 
doctor  who  pledged  himself  to  cure  all  disorders  of  the  cir- 
culation by  attending  to  tidal  influences,  and  made  the  moon 
herself  enter  into  the  materia  medica.  What  Sir  Horace 
believed,  or  did  not  believe,  in  the  wild  rhapsodies  of  the 
charlatan,  is  known  only  to  himself.  Whether  his  credulity 
was  fed  by  the  hope  of  obtaining  relief,  or  whether  his  fancy 
only  was  aroused  by  the  speculative  images  thus  suggested, 
it  is  impossible  to  say.  It  is  not  altogether  improbable  that 
he  perused  these  things  as  Charles  Fox  used  to  read  all  the 
trashiest  novels  of  the  Minerva  Press,  and  find,  in  the  very 
distorted  and  exaggerated  pictures,  a  relief  and  a  relaxation 
which  more  correct  views  of  life  had  failed  to  impart. 
Hard-headed  men  require  strange  indulgences. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

BILLY  TRAYNOR  AND  THE  COLONEL. 

It  was  a  fine  breezy  morning  as  the  Colonel  set  out  with 
Billy  Traynor  for  Belmullet.  The  bridle-path  by  which 
they  travelled  led  through  a  wild  and  thinly  inhabited  tract, 
—  now  dipping  down  between  grassy  hills,  now  tracing  its 
course  along  the  cliffs  over  the  sea.  Tall  ferns  covered  the 
slopes,  protected  from  the  west  winds,  and  here  and  there 
little  copses  of  stunted  oak  showed  the  traces  of  what  once 
had  been  forest.  It  was,  on  the  whole,  a  silent  and  dreary 
region,  so  that  the  travellers  felt  it  even  relief  as  they  drew 
nigh  the  bright  blue  sea,  and  heard  the  sonorous  booming  of 
the  waves  as  they  broke  along  the  shore. 

"  It  cheers  one  to  come  up  out  of  those  dreary  dells,  and 
hear  the  pleasant  plash  of  the  sea,"  said  Harcourt ;  and  his 
bright  face  showed  that  he  felt  the  enjoyment. 

"So  it  does,  sir,"  said  Billy.  ''And  yet  Homer  makes 
his  hero  go  heavy-hearted  as  he  hears  the  ever-sounding 
sea." 

"What  does  that  signify.  Doctor?"  said  Harcourt, 
impatiently.  "Telling  me  what  a  character  in  a  fiction 
feels  affects  me  no  more  than  telling  me  what  he  does. 
Why,  man,  the  one  is  as  unreal  as  the  other.  The  fellow 
that  created  him  fashioned  his  thoughts  as  well  as  his 
actions." 

"To  be  sure  he  did;  but  when  the  fellow  is  a  janius, 
what  he  makes  is  as  much  a  crayture  as  either  you  or 
myself." 

"  Come,  come.  Doctor,  no  mystification." 

"  I  don't  mean  any,"  broke  in  Billy.  "  What  I  want  to 
say  is  this,  that  as  we  read  every  character  to  elicit  truth,  — 
truth  in  the  working  of  human   motives,  truth  in  passion, 


BILLY  TRAYNOR  AND   THE  COLONEL.  113 

truth  in  all  the  stmggles  of  our  poor  weak  natures, — 
why  would  n't  a  great  janius  like  Homer,  or  Shakspeare,  or 
Milton,  be  better  able  to  show  us  this  in  some  picture  drawn 
by  themselves,  than  you  or  I  be  able  to  find  it  out  for 
ourselves  ?  '* 

Harcourt  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

"Well,  now,"  said  Billy,  returning  to  the  charge,  "did 
you  ever  see  a  waxwork  model  of  anatomy?  Every  nerve 
and  siny  of  a  nerve  was  there,  —  not  a  vein  nor  an  artery 
wanting.  The  artist  that  made  it  all  just  wanted  to  show 
you  where  everything  was;  but  he  never  wanted  you  to 
believe  it  was  alive,  or  ever  had  been.  But  with  janius 
it 's  different.  He  just  gives  you  some  traits  of  a  character, 
he  points  him  out  to  you  passing,  —  just  as  I  would  to  a 
man  going  along  the  street,  —  and  there  he  is  alive  for  ever 
and  ever;  not  like  you  and  me,  that  will  be  dead  and 
buried  to-morrow  or  next  day,  and  the  most  known  of  us 
three  lines  in  a  parish  registhry,  but  he  goes  down  to 
posterity  an  example,  an  illustration  —  or  a  warning,  maybe 
—  to  thousands  and  thousands  of  living  men.  Don't  talk 
to  me  about  fiction!  What  he  thought  and  felt  is  truer 
than  all  that  you  and  I  and  a  score  like  us  ever  did  or 
ever  will  do.  The  creations  of  janius  are  the  landmarks 
of  humanity;  and  well  for  us  is  it  that  we  have  such  to 
guide  us ! " 

"AH  this  may  be  very  fine,"  said  Harcourt,  contemptu- 
ously, "  but  give  me  the  sentiments  of  a  living  man,  or  one 
that  has  lived,  in  preference  to  all  the  imaginary  characters 
that  have  ever  adorned  a  story." 

' '  Just  as  I  suppose  that  you  'd  say  that  a  soldier  in 
the  Blues,  or  some  big,  hulking  corporal  in  the  Guards, 
is  a  finer  model  of  the  human  form  than  ever  Praxiteles 
chiselled." 

"1  know  which  I'd  rather  have  alongside  of  me  in  a 
charge.  Doctor,"  said  Harcourt,  laughing;  and  then,  to 
change  the  topic,  he  pointed  to  a  lone  cabin  on  the  sea-shore, 
miles  away,  as  it  seemed,  from  all  other  habitations. 

"That's  Michel  Cady's,  sir,"  said  Traynor;  "he  lives 
by  birds,  —  hunting  them  say  gulls  and  cormorants  through 
the  crevices   of  the  rocks,  and  stealing  the   eggs.     There 


114        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

isn't  a  precipice  that  he  won't  climb,  not  a  cliff  that  he 
won't  face." 

"Well,  if  that  be  his  home,  the  pursuit  does  not  seem  a 
profitable  one." 

"  'T  is  as  good  as  breaking  stones  on  the  road  for  four- 
pence  a  day,  or  carrying  sea-weed  five  miles  on  your  back 
to  manure  the  potatoes,"  said  Billy,  mournfully. 

''That's  exactly  the  very  thing  that  puzzles  me,"  said 
Harcourt,  "why,  in  a  country  so  remarkable  for  fertility, 
every  one  should  be  so  miserably  poor !  " 

"  And  you  never  heard  any  explanation  of  it?" 

"  Never;  at  least,  never  one  that  satisfied  me." 

"  Nor  ever  will  you,"  said  Billy,  sententiously. 

"And  why  so?  " 

"  Because,"  said  he,  drawing  a  long  breath,  as  if  prepar- 
ing for  a  discourse,  —  "  because  there  's  no  man  capable  of 
going  into  the  whole  subject;  for  it's  not  merely  an  eco- 
nomical question  or  a  social  one,  but  it  is  metaphysical,  and 
religious,  and  political,  and  ethnological,  and  historical,  — 
ay,  and  geographical  too !  You  have  to  consider,  first, 
who  and  what  are  the  aborigines.  A  conquered  people  that 
never  gave  in  they  were  conquered.  Who  are  the  rulers? 
A  Saxon  race  that  always  felt  that  they  were  infarior  to 
them  they  ruled  over !  " 

"By  Jove,  Doctor,  I  must  stop  you  there;  I  never  heard 
any  acknowledgment  of  this  inferiority  you  speak  of." 

"I'd  like  to  get  a  goold  medal  for  arguin'  it  out  with 
you,"  said  Billy. 

"  And,  after  all,  I  don't  see  how  it  would  resolve  the 
original  doubt,"  said  Harcourt.  "I  want  to  know  why  the 
people  are  so  poor,  and  I  don't  want  to  hear  of  the  battle  of 
Clontarf,  or  the  Danes  at  Dundalk." 

"  There  it  is,  you'd  like  to  narrow  down  a  great  question 
of  race,  language,  traditions,  and  laws  to  a  little  miserable 
dispute  about  labor  and  wages.  O  Manchester,  Manches- 
ter !  how  ye  're  in  the  heart  of  every  Englishman,  rich  or 
poor,  gentle  or  simple !  You  say  you  never  heard  of  any 
confession  of  inferiority.  Of  course  you  did  n't ;  but  quite 
the  reverse,  —  a  very  confident  sense  of  being  far  better  than 
the  poor  Irish;   and  I'll   tell  you  how,  and  why,  just   as 


BILLY  TRAYNOR  AND   THE   COLONEL.  115 

you,  yourself,  after  a  discusshion  with  me,  when  you  find 
yourself  dead  bate,  and  not  a  word  to  reply,  you  '11  go  home 
to  a  good  dinner  and  a  bottle  of  wine,  dry  clothes  and  a 
bright  fire ;  and  no  matter  how  hard  my  argument  pushed 
you,  you'll  remember  that  /*m  in  rags,  in  a  dirty  cabin, 
with  potatoes  to  ate  and  water  to  drink,  and  you  '11  say,  at 
adl  events,  '  I  'm  better  off  than  he  is ; '  and  there 's  your 
superiority,  neither  more  or  less,  —  there  it  is !  And  all  the 
while,  I 'in  saying  the  same  thing  to  myself^  — '  Sorrow 
matter  for  his  fine  broadcloth,  and  his  white  linen,  and  his 
very  best  roast  beef  that  he 's  atin',  —  I  'm  his  master !  In 
all  that  dignifies  the  spacies  in  them  grand  qualities  that 
makes  us  poets,  rhetoricians,  and  the  like,  in  those  elegant 
attributes  that,  as  the  poet  says,  — 

"  In  aU  our  pursuits 
Lifts  us  high  above  brutes,* " 

—  in  these,  I  say  again,  I  'm  his  master ! ' " 

As  Billy  finished  his  glowing  panegyric  upon  his  country 
and  himself,  he  burst  out  in  a  joyous  laugh,  and  cried,  "  Did 
ye  ever  hear  conceit  like  that?  Did  ye  ever^feimect  to  see 
the  day  that  a  ragged  poor  blackguard  like  me  would  dare  to 
say  as  much  to  one  like  you  f  And,  after  all,  it 's  the  greatest 
compliment  I  could  pay  you." 

''  How  so,  Billy?     I  don't  exactly  see  that.'* 

*'  Why,  that  if  you  were  n't  a  gentleman,  —  a  raal  gentle- 
man, born  and  bred,  —  I  could  never  have  ventured  to  tell 
you  what  I  said  now.  It  is  because,  in  your  own  refined 
feelings,  you  can  pardon  all  the  coarseness  of  mine,  that  I 
have  my  safety." 

"You're  as  great  a  courtier  as  you  are  a  scholar,  Billy," 
said  Harcourt,  laughing;  '*  meanwhile,  I'm  not  likely  to  be 
enlightened  as  to  the  cause  of  Irish  poverty." 

*'  'T  is  a  whole  volume  I  could  write  on  the  same  subject," 
said  Billy;  "for  there's  so  many  causes  in  operation,  com- 
binin',  and  assistin',  and  aggravatin'  each  other.  But  if  you 
want  the  head  and  front  of  the  mischief  in  one  word,  it  is 
this,  that  no  Irishman  ever  gave  his  heart  and  sowl  to  his 
own  business,  but  always  was  mindin'  something  else  that  he 
had  nothin'  to  say  to ;  and  so,  ye  see,  the  priest  does  be 


116        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

thinkin'  of  politics,  the  parson  's  thinkin'  of  the  priest,  the 
people  are  always  on  the  watch  for  a  crack  at  the  agent  or 
the  tithe-proctor,  and  the  landlord,  instead  of  looking  after 
his  property,  is  up  in  Dublin  dinin'  with  the  Lord-Leftinint 
and  abusin'  his  tenants.  I  don't  want  to  screen  myself,  nor 
say  I'm  better  than  my  neighbors,  for  though  I  have  a 
larned  profession  to  live  by,  I  'd  rather  be  writin'  a  ballad, 
and  singin'  it  too,  down  Thomas  Street,  than  I  'd  be  lecturin' 
at  the  Surgeons'  Hall." 

"  You  are  certainly  a  very  strange  people,"  said  Harcourt, 

"  And  yet  there's  another  thing  stranger  still,  which  is, 
that  your  countrymen  never  took  any  advantage  of  our 
eccentricities,  to  rule  us  by;  and  if  they  had  any  wit  in 
their  heads,  they  'd  have  seen,  easy  enough,  that  all  these 
traits  are  exactly  the  clews  to  a  nation's  heart.  That 's 
what  Pitt  meant  when  he  said,  '  Let  me  make  the  songs  of  a 
people,  and  I  don't  care  who  makes  the  laws,'  Look  down 
now  in  that  glen  before  you,  as  far  as  you  can  see.  There  's 
Belmullet,  and  ain't  you  glad  to  be  so  near  your  journey's 
end?  for  you're  mighty  tired  of  all  this  discoorsin'." 

''  On  the  contrary,  Billy,  even  when  I  disagree  with  what 
you  say,  I'm  pleased  to  hear  your  reasons;  at  the  same 
time,  I  'm  glad  we  are  drawing  nigh  to  this  poor  boy,  and  I 
only  trust  we  may  not  be  too  late." 

Billy  muttered  a  pious  concurrence  in  the  wish,  and  they 
rode  along  for  some  time  in  silence.  ''  There's  the  Bay  of 
Belmullet  now  under  your  feet,"  cried  Billy,  as  he  pulled  up 
short,  and  pointed  with  his  whip  seaward.  ''There's  five 
fathoms,  and  fine  anchoring  ground  on  every  inch  ye  see 
there.  There 's  elegant  shelter  from  tempestuous  winds. 
There  's  a  coast  rich  in  heri'ings,  oysters,  lobsters,  and  crabs ; 
farther  out  there  's  cod,  and  haddock,  and  mackerel  in  the 
sayson.  There 's  sea  wrack  for  kelp,  and  every  other  con- 
vanience  any  one  can  require ;  and  a  poorer  set  of  devils 
than  ye  '11  see  when  we  get  down  there,  there 's  nowhere  to 
be  found.  Well,  well !  '  if  idleness  is  bliss,  it 's  folly  to 
work  hard.'"  And  with  this  paraphrase,  Billy  made  way 
for  the  Colonel,  as  the  path  had  now  become  too  narrow  for 
two  abreast,  and  in  this  way  they  descended  to  the  shore. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


A    SICK   BED. 


Although  the  cabin  in  which  the  sick  boy  lay  was  one  of 
the  best  in  the  village,  its  interior  presented  a  picture  of  great 
poverty.  It  consisted  of  a  single  room,  in  the  middle  of 
which  a  mud  wall  of  a  few  feet  in  height  formed  a  sort  of 
partition,  abutting  against  which  was  the  bed,  —  the  one  bed 
of  the  entire  family,  —  now  devoted  to  the  guest.  Two  or 
three  coarsely  fashioned  stools,  a  rickety  table,  and  a  still 
more  rickety  dresser  comprised  all  the  furniture.  The  floor 
was  uneven  and  fissured,  and  the  solitary  window  was 
mended  with  an  old  hat,  —  thus  diminishing  the  faint  light 
which  struggled  through  the  narrow  aperture. 

A  large  net,  attached  to  the  rafters,  hung  down  in  heavy 
festoons  overhead,  the  corks  and  sinks  dangling  in  danger- 
ous proximity  to  the  heads  underneath.  Several  spars  and 
oars  littered  one  corner,  and  a  newly  painted  buoy  filled 
another ;  but,  in  spite  of  all  these  encumbrances,  there  was 
space  around  the  fire  for  a  goodly  company  of  some  eight  or 
nine  of  all  ages,  who  were  pleasantly  eating  their  supper 
from  a  large  pot  of  potatoes  that  smoked  and  steamed  in 
front  of  them. 

' '  God  save  all  here !  "  cried  Billy,  as  he  preceded  the 
Colonel  into  the  cabin. 

"  Save  ye  kindly,"  was  the  courteous  answer,  in  a  chorus 
of  voices ;  at  the  same  time,  seeing  a  gentleman  at  the  door, 
the  whole  party  arose  at  once  to  receive  him.  Nothing 
could  have  surpassed  the  perfect  good-breeding  with  which 
the  fisherman  and  his  wife  did  the  honors  of  their  humble 
home;  and  Harcourt  at  once  forgot  the  poverty-struck  as- 
pect of  the  scene  in  the  general  courtesy  of  the  welcome. 


118        THE  FOKTUNES  OF  GLENCOKE, 

''  He 's  no  better,  your  honor,  —  no  better  at  all,"  said  the 
man,  as  Harcourt  drew  nigh  the  sick  bed.  "He  does  be 
always  ravin', — ravin'  on,  —  beggin'  and  implorin' that  we 
won't  take  him  back  to  the  Castle ;  and  if  he  falls  asleep, 
the  first  thing  he  says  when  he  wakes  up  is,  '  Where  am  I? 
—  tell  me  I'm  not  at  Glencore !  '  and  he  keeps  on  screechin', 
'  Tell  me,  tell  me  so ! '" 

Harcourt  bent  down  over  the  bed  and  gazed  at  him. 
Slowly  and  languidly  the  sick  boy  raised  his  heavy  lids  and 
returned  the  stare. 

"You  know  me,  Charley,  boy,  don't  you?"  said  he, 
softly. 

"  Yes,"  muttered  he,  in  a  weak  tone. 

"  Who  am  I,  Charley?     Tell  me  who  is  speaking  to  you." 

"Yes,"  said  he  again. 

"Poor  fellow!"  sighed  Harcourt,  "he  does  7iot  know 
me !  " 

"  Where's  the  pain?  "  asked  Billy,  suddenly. 

The  boy  placed  his  hand  on  his  forehead,  and  then  on  his 
temples. 

"  Look  up !  look  at  me/  "  said  Billy.  "  Ay,  there  it  is ! 
the  pupil  does  not  contract,  —  there 's  mischief  in  the  brain. 
He  wants  to  say  something  to  you,  sir,"  said  he  to  Har- 
court;   "he's  makin'  signs  to  you  to  stoop  down." 

Harcourt  put  his  ear  close  to  the  sick  boy's  lips,  and 
listened. 

"  No,  my  dear  child,  of  course  not,"  said  he,  after  a 
pause.  "  You  shall  remain  here,  and  I  will  stay  with  you 
too.     In  a  few  days  your  father  will  come  —  " 

A  wild  yell,  a  shriek  that  made  the  cabin  ring,  now  broke 
from  the  boy,  followed  by  another,  and  then  a  third ;  and 
then  with  a  spring  he  arose  from  the  bed,  and  tried  to  escape. 
Weak  and  exhausted  as  he  was,  such  was  the  strength  sup- 
plied by  fever,  it  was  all  that  they  could  do  to  subdue  him 
and  replace  him  in  the  bed ;  violent  convulsions  followed  this 
severe  access,  and  it  was  not  till  after  hours  of  intense  suffer- 
ing that  he  calmed  down  again  and  seemed  to  slumber. 

"There's  more  than  we  know  of  here.  Colonel,"  said 
Billy,  as  he  drew  him  to  one  side.  "  There's  moral  causes 
as  well  as  malady  at  work." 


A  SICK  BED.  119 

*'  There  may  be,  but  I  know  nothing  of  them,"  said  Har- 
court ;  and  in  the  frank  air  of  the  speaker  the  other  did  not 
hesitate  to  repose  his  trust. 

"  If  we  hope  to  save  him,  we  ought  to  find  out  where  the 
mischief  lies,"  said  Billy;  "for,  if  ye  remark,  his  ravin'  is 
always  upon,  one  subject ;  he  never  wanders  from  that." 

"He  has  a  dread  of  home.  Some  altercation  with  his 
father  has,  doubtless,  impressed  him  with  this  notion." 

"Ah,  that  is  n't  enough,  we  must  go  deeper;  we  want  a 
clew  to  the  part  of  the  brain  engaged.  Meanwhile,  here 's  at 
him,  with  the  antiphlogistic  touch ; "  and  he  opened  his 
lancet-case,  and  tucked  up  his  cuffs.  "Houlde  the  basin, 
Biddy." 

"There,  Harvey  himself  couldn't  do  it  nater  than  that. 
It 's  an  elegant  study  to  be  feelin'  a  pulse  while  the  blood 
is  flowin'.  It  comes  at  first  like  a  dammed-up  cataract,  a 
regular  out-pouring,  just  as  a  young  girl  would  tell  her  love, 
all  wild  and  tumultuous ;  then,  after  a  time,  she  gets  more 
temperate,  the  feelings  are  relieved,  and  the  ardor  is  mod- 
erated, till  at  last,  wearied  and  worn  out,  the  heart  seems 
to  ask  for  rest ;  and  then  ye  '11  remark  a  settled  faint 
smile  coming  over  the  lips,  and  a  clammy  coldness  in  the 
face." 

"  He 's  fainting,  sir,"  broke  in  Biddy. 

"He  is,  ma'am,  and  it's  myself  done  it,"  said  Billy. 
"Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear!  If  we  could  only  do  with  the  moral 
heart  what  we  can  with  the  raal  physical  one,  what  wonder- 
ful poets  we  'd  be  !  " 

' '  What  hopes  have  you  ?  "  whispered  Harcourt. 

' '  The  best,  the  very  best.  There  's  youth  and  a  fine  con- 
stitution to  work  upon ;  and  what  more  does  a  doctor  want? 
As  ould  Marsden  said,  '  You  can't  destroy  these  in  a  fort- 
night, so  the  patient  must  live.'  But  you  must  help  me, 
Colonel,  and  you  can  help  me." 

"  Command  me  in  any  way.  Doctor." 

"Here's  the  modus^  then.  You  must  go  back  to  the 
Castle  and  find  out,  if  you  can,  what  happened  between  his 
father  and  him.  It  does  not  signify  now,  nor  will  it  for 
some  days ;  but  when  he  comes  to  the  convalescent  stage, 
it's  then  we'll  need  to  knt>w  how  to  manage  him,  and  what 


120        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

subjects  to  keep  him  away  from.  'T  is  the  same  with  the 
brain  as  with  a  sprained  ankle ;  you  may  exercise  if  you 
don't  twist  it ;  but  just  come  down  once  on  the  wrong  spot, 
and  maybe  ye  won't  yell  out !  " 

*'  Yqu  '11  not  quit  him,  then." 

"  I  'm  a  senthry  on  his  post,  waiting  to  get  a  shot  at  the 
enemy  if  he  shows  the  top  of  his  head.  Ah,  sir,  if  ye  only 
knew  physic,  ye  'd  acknowledge  there  's  nothing  as  treacher- 
ous as  dizaze.  Ye  hunt  him  out  of  the  brain,  and  then  he 
is  in  the  lungs.  Ye  chase  him  out  of  that,  and  he  skulks  in 
the  liver.  At  him  there,  and  he  takes  to  the  fibrous  mem- 
branes, and  then  it 's  regular  hide-and-go-seek  all  over  the 
body.  Trackin'  a  bear  is  child's  play  to  it."  And  so  say- 
ing, Billy  held  the  Colonel's  stirrup  for  him  to  mount,  and 
giving  his  most  courteous  salutation,  and  his  best  wishes 
for  a  good  journey,  he  turned  and  re-entered  the  cabin. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

THE    "project." 

It  was  not  without  surprise  that  Harcourt  saw  Glencore 
enter  the  drawing-room  a  few  minutes  before  dinner.  Very 
pale  and  very  feeble,  he  slowly  traversed  the  room,  giving  a 
hand  to  each  of  his  guests,  and  answering  the  inquiries  for 
his  health  by  a  sickly  smile,  while  he  said,  "As  you  see 
me." 

"  I  am  going  to  dine  with  you  to-day,  Harcourt,"  said  he, 
with  an  attempt  at  gayety  of  manner.  "  Upton  tells  me 
that  a  little  exertion  of  this  kind  will  do  me  good." 

"Upton's  right,"  cried  the  Colonel,  "especially  if  he 
added  that  you  should  take  a  glass  or  two  of  that  admirable 
Burgundy.  My  life  on  't,  but  that  is  the  liquor  to  set  a  man 
on  his  legs  again." 

"  I  did  n't  remark  that  this  was  exactly  the  effect  it  pro- 
duced upon  you  t'  other  night,"  said  Upton,  with  one  of  his 
own  sly  laughs. 

"That  comes  of  drinking  it  in  bad  company,"  retorted 
Harcourt ;   "  a  man  is  driven  to  take  two  glasses  for  one." 

As  the  dinner  proceeded,  Glencore  rallied  considerably, 
taking  his  part  in  the  conversation,  and  evidently  enjoying 
the  curiously  contrasted  temperaments  at  either  side  of  him. 
The  one,  all  subtlety,  refinement,  and  finesse;  the  other, 
out-spoken,  rude,  and  true-hearted  ;  rarely  correct  in  a  ques- 
tion of  taste,  but  invariably  right  in  every  mattey  of  honor- 
able dealing.  Though  it  was  clear  enough  that  Upton 
relished  the  eccentricities  whose  sallies  he  provoked,  it  was 
no  less  easy  to  see  how  thoroughly  he  appreciated  the  frank 
and  manly  nature  of  the  old  soldier ;  nor  could  all  the  crafty 
habits  of  his  acute  mind  overcome  the  hearty  admiration 
with  which  he  regarded  him. 


122        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

It  is  in  the  unrestricted  ease  of  these  ''little  dinners," 
where  two  or  three  old  friends  are  met,  that  social  inter- 
course assumes  its  most  charming  form.  The  usages  of 
the  great  world,  which  exact  a  species  of  uniformity  of 
breeding  and  manners,  are  here  laid  aside,  and  men  talk 
with  all  the  bias  and  prejudices  of  their  true  nature,  dashing 
the  topics  discussed  with  traits  of  personality,  and  even  whims, 
that  are  most  amusing.  How  little  do  we  carry  away  of  tact 
or  wisdom  from  the  grand  banquets  of  life ;  and  what  pleas- 
ant stores  of  thought,  what  charming  memories  remain  to  us, 
after  those  small  gatherings  ! 

How,  as  I  write  this,  one  little  room  rises  to  my  recol- 
lection, with  its  quaint  old  sideboard  of  carved  oak ;  its 
dark-brown  cabinets,  curiously  sculptured;  its  heavy  old 
brocade  curtains,  and  all  its  queer  devices  of  knick-knackery, 
where  such  meetings  once  were  held,  and  where,  throwing 
off  the  cares  of  life,  —  shut  out  from  them,  as  it  were,  by 
the  massive  folds  of  the  heavy  drapery  across  the  door,  — 
we  talked  in  all  the  fearless  freedom  of  old  friendship,  ram- 
bling away  from  theme  to  theme,  contrasting  our  experiences, 
balancing  our  views  in  life,  and  mingling  through  our  con- 
verse the  racy  freshness  of  a  boy's  enjoyment  with  the  sager 
counsels  of  a  man's  reflectiveness.  Alas !  how  very  early  is 
it  sometimes  in  life  that  we  tread  "  the  banquet-hall  deserted." 
But  to  our  story :  the  evening  wore  pleasantly  on ;  Upton 
talked,  as  few  but  himself  could  do,  upon  the  public  ques- 
tions of  the  day ;  and  Harcourt,  with  many  a  blunt  inter- 
ruption, made  the  discourse  but  more  easy  and  amusing. 
The  soldier  was,  indeed,  less  at  his  ease  than  the  others.  It 
was  not  alone  that  many  of  the  topics  were  not  such  as  he 
was  most  familiar  with,  but  he  felt  angry  and  indignant  at 
Glencore's  seeming  indifference  as  to  the  fate  of  his  son. 
Not  a  single  reference  to  him  even  occurred ;  his  name  was 
never  even  passingly  mentioned.  Nothing  but  the  careworn, 
sickly  face,  the  wasted  form  and  dejected  expression  before 
him,  could  have  restrained  Harcourt  from  alluding  to  the 
boy.  He  bethought  him,  however,  that  any  indiscretion  on 
his  part  might  have  the  gravest  consequences.  Upton,  too, 
might  have  said  something  to  quiet  Glencore's  mind.  "At 
all  events,  I'll  wait,"  said  he  to  himself;  "  for  wherever 


THE  "PROJECT."  123 

there  is  much  delicacy  in  a  negotiation,  I  generally  make  a 
mess  of  it."  The  more  genially,  therefore,  did  Glencore 
lend  himself  to  the  pleasure  of  the  conversation,  the  more 
provoked  did  Harcourt  feel  at  his  heartlessness,  and  the  more 
did  the  struggle  cost  him  to  control  his  own  sentiments. 

Upton,  who  detected  the  secret  working  of  men's  minds 
with  a  marvellous  exactness,  saw  how  the  poor  Colonel  was 
suffering,  and  that,  in  all  probability,  some  unhappy  ex- 
plosion would  at  last  ensue,  and  took  an  opportunity  of 
remarking  that  though  all  this  chit-chat  was  delightful  for 
them,  Glencore  was  still  a  sick  man. 

*'  We  must  n't  forget,  Harcourt,"  said  he, ''  that  a  chicken- 
broth  diet  includes  very  digestible  small-talk ;  and  here  we 
are  leading  our  poor  friend  through  politics,  war,  diplomacy, 
and  the  rest  of  it,  just  as  if  he  had  the  stomach  of  an  old 
campaigner  and  —  " 

"  And  the  brain  of  a  great  diplomatist !  Say  it  out,  man, 
and  avow  honestly  the  share  of  excellence  you  accord  to  each 
of  us,"  broke  in  Harcourt,  laughing. 

"  I  would  to  Heaven  we  could  exchange,"  sighed  Upton, 
languidly. 

"The  saints  forbid!"  exclaimed  the  other;  "and  it 
would  do  us  little  good  if  we  were  able." 

"Why  so?" 

"I'd  never  know  what  to  do  with  that  fine  intellect  if  I 
had  it ;  and  as  for  you^  what  with  your  confounded  pills  and 
mixtures,  your  infernal  lotions  and  embrocations,  you'd 
make  my  sound  system  as  bad  as  your  own  in  three  months' 
time." 

"  You  are  quite  wrong,  my  dear  Harcourt;  I  should  treat 
the  stomach  as  you  would  do  the  brain,  —  give  it  next  to 
nothing  to  do,  in  the  hopes  it  might  last  the  longer." 

"There  now,  good  night,"  said  Harcourt;  "he's  always 
the  better  for  bitters,  whether  he  gives  or  takes  them." 
And  with  a  good-humored  laugh  he  left  the  room. 

Glencore's  eyes  followed  him  as  he  retired ;  and  then,  as 
they  closed,  an  expression  as  of  long-repressed  suffering 
settled  down  on  his  features  so  marked  that  Upton  hastily 
asked,  — 

"  Are  you  ill,  are  you  in  pain,  Glencore?" 


124        THE  FOKTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

*'  In  pain?  Yes,"  said  he,  "  these  two  hours  back  I  have 
been  suffering  intensely ;  but  there 's  no  help  for  it !  Must 
you  really  leave  this  to-morrow,  Upton  ?  " 

"  I  must.  This  letter  from  the  Foreign  Office  requires  my 
immediate  presence  in  London,  with  a  very  great  likelihood 
of  being  obliged  to  start  at  once  for  the  Continent." 

''  And  I  had  so  much  to  say,  —  so  many  things  to  consult 
you  on,"  sighed  the  other. 

"  Are  you  equal  to  it  now?  "  asked  Upton. 

"  I  must  try,  at  all  events.  You  shall  learn  my  plan." 
He  was  silent  for  some  minutes,  and  sat  with  his  head  rest- 
ing on  his  hand,  in  deep  reflection.  At  last  he  said,  "Has 
it  ever  occurred  to  you,  Upton,  that  some  incident  of  the 
past,  some  circumstance  in  itself  insignificant,  should  rise 
up,  as  it  were,  in  after  life  to  suit  an  actual  emergency,  just 
as  though  fate  had  fashioned  it  for  such  a  contingency  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  have  experienced  what  you  describe, 
if,  indeed,  I  fully  understand  it." 

"I'll  explain  better  by  an  instance.  You  know  now," 
—  here  his  voice  became  slow,  and  the  words  fell  with  a 
marked  distinctness, —  "  you  know  now  what  I  intend  by 
this  woman.  Well,  just  as  if  to  make  my  plan  more  feas- 
ible, a  circumstance  intended  for  a  very  different  object 
offers  itself  to  my  aid.  When  my  uncle,  Sir  Miles  Herrick, 
heard  that  I  was  about  to  marry  a  foreigner,  he  declared 
that  he  would  never  leave  me  a  shilling  of  his  fortune.  I 
am  not  very  sure  that  I  cared  much  for  the  threat  when  it 
was  uttered.  My  friends,  however,  thought  differently ;  and 
though  they  did  not  attempt  to  dissuade  me  from  my  mar- 
riage, they  suggested  that  I  should  try  some  means  of  over- 
coming this  prejudice ;  at  all  events,  that  I  should  not  hurry 
on  the  match  without  an  effort  to  obtain  his  consent.  I 
agreed,— not  very  willingly,  indeed,  — and  so  the  matter 
remained.  The  circumstance  was  well  known  amongst  my 
two  or  three  most  intimate  friends,  and  constantly  discussed 
by  them.  I  need  n't  tell  you  that  the  tone  in  which  such 
things  are  talked  of  as  often  partakes  of  levity  as  serious- 
ness. They  gave  me  all  manner  of  absurd  counsels,  one 
more  outrageously  ridiculous  than  the  other.  At  last,  one 
day, —we  were   picnicking  at  Baia,  —  Old  Clifford, —  you 


THE   "PROJECT."  125 

remember  that  original  who  had  the  famous  schooner-yacht 
'  The  Breeze,'  —  well,  he  took  me  aside  after  dinner,  and  said, 
'  Glencore,  I  have  it,  — I  have  just  hit  upon  the  expedient. 
Your  uncle  and  I  were  old  chums  at  Christ  Church  fifty 
years  ago.  What  if  we  were  to  tell  him  that  you  were  going 
to  marry  a  daughter  of  mine?  I  don't  think  he'd  object. 
I  'm  half  certain  he  'd  not.  I  have  been  abroad  these  five- 
and-thirty  years.  Nobody  in  England  knows  much^about 
me  now.  Old  Herrick  can't  live  forever;  he  is  my  senior 
by  a  good  ten  or  twelve  years;  and  if  the  delusion  only 
lasts  his  time  — ' 

"  '  But  perhaps  you  have  a  daughter? '  broke  I  in. 

*' '  I  have,  and  she  is  married  already,  so  there  is  no  risk 
on  that  score.'  I  needn't  repeat  all  that  he  said  for,  nor 
that  I  urged  against,  the  project;  for  though  it  was  after 
dinner,  and  we  all  had  drunk  very  freely,  the  deception  was 
one  I  firmly  rejected.  When  a  man  shows  a  great  desire  to 
serve  you  on  a  question  of  no  common  difficulty,  it  is  very 
hard  to  be  severe  upon  his  counsels,  however  unscrupulous 
they  may  be.  In  fact,  you  accept  them  as  proofs  of  friend- 
ship only  the  stronger,  seeing  how  much  they  must  have  cost 
him  to  offer." 

Upton  smiled  dubiously,  and  Glencore,  blushing  slightly, 
said,   "You  don't  concur  in  this,  I  perceive." 

"Not  exactly,"  said  Upton,  in  his  silkiest  of  tones;  "I 
rather  regard  these  occasions  as  I  should  do  the  generosity 
of  a  man  who,  filling  my  hand  with  base  money,  should  say, 
'  Pass  it  if  you  can  ! '  " 

"In  this  case,  however,"  resumed  Glencore,  "  he  took  his 
share  of  the  fraud,  or  at  least  was  willing  to  do  so,  for  I 
distinctly  said  '  No '  to  the  whole  scheme.  He  grew  very 
warm  about  it ;  at  one  moment  appealing  to  my  '  go/od  sense, 
not  to  kick  seven  thousand  a  year  out  of  the  window ; '  at 
the  next,  in  half -quarrelsome  mood,  asking  '  if  it  were  any 
objection  I  had  to  be  connected  with  his  family.'  To  get  rid 
of  a  very  troublesome  subject,  and  to  end  a  controversy  that 
threatened  to  disturb  a  party,  I  said  at  last,  '  We  '11  talk  it 
over  to-morrow,  Clifford,  and  if  your  arguments  be  as  good 
as  your  heart,  then  perhaps  they  may  yet  convince  me.' 
This  ended  the  theme,  and  we  parted.     I  started  the  next 


126        THE  FORTUNES  OE  GLENCORE. 

day  on  a  shooting  excursion  into  Calabria,  and  when  I  got 
back  it  was  not  of  meeting  Clifford  I  was  thinking.  I  has- 
tened to  meet  the  Delia  Torres,  and  then  came  our  elopement. 
You  know  the  rest.  We  went  to  the  East,  passed  the  winter 
in  Upper  Egypt,  and  came  to  Cairo  in  spring,  where  Charley 
was  born.  I  got  back  to  Naples  after  a  year  or  two,  and 
then  found  that  my  uncle  had  just  died,  and  in  consequence 
of  my  marrying  the  daughter  of  his  old  and  attached  friend, 
Sir  Guy  Clifford,  had  reversed  the  intention  of  his  will,  and 
by  a  codicil  left  me  his  sole  heir.  It  was  thus  that  my 
marriage,  and  even  my  boy's  birth,  became  inserted  in  the 
Peerage ;  my  solicitor,  in  his  vast  eagerness  for  my  interests, 
having  taken  care  to  indorse  the  story  with  his  own  name. 
The  disinherited  nephews  and  nieces,  the  half -cousins  and 
others,  soon  got  wind  of  the  real  facts,  and  contested  the 
will,  on  the  ground  of  its  being  executed  under  a  delusion. 
I,  of  course,  would  not  resist  thek  claim,  and  satisfied 
myself  by  denying  the  statement  as  to  my  marriage ;  and  so, 
after  affording  the  current  subject  of  gossip  for  a  season,  I 
was  completely  forgotten,  the  more  as  we  went  to  live 
abroad,  and  never  mixed  with  English.  ,  And  now,  Upton, 
it  is  this  same  incident  I  would  utilize  for  the  present  occa- 
sion, though,  as  I  said  before,  when  it  originally  occurred  it 
had  a  very  different  signification." 

"  I  don't  exactly  see  how,"  said  Upton. 

"  In  this  wise.  My  real  marriage  was  never  inserted  in 
the  Peerage.  I'll  now  manage  that  it  shall  so  appear,  to 
give  me  the  opportunity  of  formally  contradicting  it,  and 
alluding  to  the  strange  persistence  with  which,  having 
married  me  some  fifteen  years  ago  to  a  lady  who  never 
existed,  they  now  are  pleased  to  unite  me  to  one  whose 
character  might  have  secured  me  against  the  calumny.  I'll 
threaten  an  action  for  libel,  etc.,  obtain  a  most  full,  explicit, 
and  abject  apology,  and  then,  when  this  has  gone  the  round 
of  all  the  journals  of  Europe,  her  doom  is  sealed !  " 

"But  she  has  surely  letters,  writings,  proofs  of  some 
sort." 

"No,  Upton,  I  have  not  left  a  scrap  in  her  possession; 
she  has  not  a  line,  not  a  letter  to  vindicate  her.  On  the  night 
I  broke  open  her  writing-desk,  I  took  away  everything  that 


THE  "PROJECT."  127 

bore  the  traces  of  my  own  hand.     I  tell  you  again  she  is  in 
my  power,  and  never  was  power  less  disposed  to  mercy." 

''  Once  more,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Upton,  "  I  am  driven 
to  tell  you  that  I  cannot  be  a  profitable  counsellor  in  a 
matter  to  every  detail  of  which  I  object.  Consider  calmly 
for  one  moment  what  you  are  doing.  See  how,  in  your 
desire  to  be  avenged  upon  /ier,  you  throw  the  heaviest  share 
of  the  penalty  on  your  own  poor  boy.  I  am  not  her  advo- 
cate now.  I  will  not  say  one  word  to  mitigate  the  course  of 
your  anger  towards  her,  but  remember  that  you  are  actually 
defrauding  him  of  his  birthright.  This  is  not  a  question 
where  you  have  a  choice.  There  is  no  discretionary  power 
left  you." 

''I'll  do  it,"  said  Glencore,  with  a  savage  energy. 

"  In  other  words,  to  wreak  a  vengeance  upon  one,  you  are 
prepared  to  immolate  another,  not  only  guiltless,  but  who 
possesses  every  claim  to  your  love  and  affection." 

''And  do  you  think  that  if  I  sacrifice  the  last  tie  that 
attaches  me  to  life,  Upton,  that  I  retire  from  this  contest 
heart-whole  ?  No,  far  from  it ;  I  go  forth  from  the  struggle 
broken,  blasted,  friendless  !  " 

"And  do  you  mean  that  this  vengeance  should  outlive 
you?     Suppose,  for  instance,  that  she  should  survive  you." 

"  It  shall  be  to  live  on  in  shame,  then,"  cried  he,  savagely. 

"  And  were  she  to  die  first?  " 

"  In  that  case —  I  have  not  thought  well  enough  about 
that.  It  is  possible,  —  it  is  just  possible ;  but  these  are 
subtleties,  Upton,  to  detach  me  from  my  purpose,  or  weaken 
my  resolution  to  carry  it  through.  You  would  apply  the 
craft  of  your  calling  to  the  case,  and,  by  suggesting  emer- 
gencies, open  a  road  to  evasions.  Enough  for  me  the 
present.  I  neither  care  to  prejudge  the  future,  nor  control 
it.  I  know,"  cried  he,  suddenly,  and  with  eyes  flashing 
angrily  as  he  spoke,  —  "I  know  that  if  you  desire  to  use  the 
confidence  I  have  reposed  in  you  against  me,  you  can  give 
me  trouble  and  even  difficulty ;  but  I  defy  Sir  Horace  Upton, 
with  all  his  skill  and  all  his  cunning,  to  outwit  me." 

There  was  that  in  the  tone  in  which  he  uttered  these 
words,  and  the  exaggerated  energy  of  his  manner,  that  con- 
vinced Upton,  Glencore's  reason  was  not  intact.     It  was  not 


128         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

what  could  amount  to  aberration  in  the  ordinary  sense,  but 
sufficient  evidence  was  there  to  show  that  judgment  had  be- 
come so  obscured  by  passion  that  the  mental  power  was 
weakened  by  the  moral. 

''Tell  me,  therefore,  Upton,"  cried  he,  "  before  we  part, 
do  you  leave  this  house  my  friend  or  my  enemy  ?  " 

"  It  is  as  your  sincere,  attached  friend  that  I  now  dispute 
with  you,  inch  by  inch,  a  dangerous  position,  with  a  judg- 
ment under  no  influence  from  passion,  viewing  this  question 
by  the  coldest  of  all  tests,  —  mere  expediency  — ' 

''  There  it  is,"  broke  in  Glencore  ;  ''  you  claim  an  advan- 
tage over  me,  because  you  are  devoid  of  feeling ;  but  this  is 
a  case,  sir,  where  the  sense  of  injury  gives  the  instinct  of 
reparation.  Is  it  nothing  to  me,  think  you,  that  I  am  con- 
tent to  go  down  dishonored  to  my  grave,  but  also  to  be  the 
last  of  my  name  and  station?  Is  it  nothing  that  a  whole 
line  of  honorable  ancestry  is  extinguished  at  once?  Is  it 
nothing  that  I  surrender  him  who  formed  my  sole  solace 
and  companionship  in  life?  You  talk  of  your  calm,  un- 
biassed mind ;  but  I  tell  you,  till  your  brain  be  on  fire  like 
mine,  and  your  heart  swollen  to  very  bursting,  that  you  have 
no  right  to  dictate  to  me  /  Besides,  it  is  done  !  The  blow 
has  fallen,"  added  he,  with  a  deeper  solemnity  of  voice. 
"  The  gulf  that  separates  us  is  already  created.  She  and  I 
can  meet  no  more.  But  why  continue  this  contest?  It  was 
to  aid  me  in  directing  that  boy's  fortunes  I  first  sought  your 
advice,  not  to  attempt  to  dissuade  me  from  what  I  will  not 
be  turned  from." 

''  In  what  way  can  I  serve  you?  "  said  Upton,  calmly. 

''  Will  you  consent  to  be  his  guardian?  " 

''I  will." 

Glencore  seized  the  other's  hand,  and  pressed  it  to  his 
heart,  and  for  some  seconds  he  could  not  speak. 

"This  is  all  that  I  ask,  Upton,"  said  he.  "It  is  the 
greatest  boon  friendship  could  accord  me.  I  need  no  more. 
Could  you  have  remained  here  a  day  or  two  more,  we  could 
have  settled  upon  some  plan  together  as  to  his  future  life ;  as 
it  is,  we  can  arrange  it  by  letter." 

"  He  must  leave  this,"  said  Upton,  thoughtfully. 

"  Of  course,  —  at  once !  " 


THE   "PROJECT."  129 

"How  far  is  Harcourt  to  be  informed  in  this  matter; 
have  you  spoken  to  him  already?" 

"  No  ;  nor  mean  to  do  so.  I  should  have  from  him  noth- 
ing but  reproaches  for  having  betrayed  the  boy  into  false 
hopes  of  a  station  he  was  never  to  fill.  You  must  tell  Har- 
court.    I  leave  it  to  yourself  to  find  the  suitable  moment." 

"  We  shall  need  his  assistance,"  said  Upton,  whose  quick 
faculties  were  already  busily  travelling  many  a  mile  of  the 
future.  "I'll  see  him  to-night,  and  try  what  can  be  done. 
In  a  few  days  you  will  have  turned  over  in  your  mind  what 
you  yourself  destine  for  him, — the  fortune  you  mean  to 
give  —  " 

"  It  is  already  done,"  said  Glencore,  laying  a  sealed  letter 
on  the  table.  "  All  that  I  purpose  in  his  behalf  you  will 
find  there." 

"  All  this  detail  is  too  much  for  you,  Glencore,"  said  the 
other,  seeing  that  a  weary,  depressed  expression  had  come 
over  him,  while  his  voice  grew  weaker  with  every  word.  "  I 
shall  not  leave  this  till  late  to-morrow,  so  that  we  can 
meet  again.     And  now  good  night." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A   TETE-A-TETE. 

When  Harcourt  was  aroused  from  his  sound  sleep  by  Upton, 
and  requested  in  the  very  blandest  tones  of  that  eminent 
diplomatist  to  lend  him  every  attention  of  his  "  very  remark- 
able faculties,"  he  was  not  by  any  means  certain  that  he  was 
not  engaged  in  a  strange  dream ;  nor  was  the  suspicion  at 
all  dispelled  by  the  revelations  addressed  to  him. 

"  Just  dip  the  end  of  that  towel  in  the  water,  Upton,  and 
give  it  to  me,"  cried  he  at  last ;  and  then,  wiping  his  face 
and  forehead,  said,  ''  Have  I  heard  you  aright,  — there  was 
no  marriage  ?  " 

Upton  nodded  assent. 

"  What  a  shameful  way  he  has  treated  this  poor  boy, 
then !  "  cried  the  other.  ''  I  never  heard  of  anything  equal 
to  it  in  cruelty,  and  I  conclude  it  was  breaking  this  news  to 
the  lad  that  drove  him  out  to  sea  on  that  night,  and  brought 
on  this  brain  fever.  By  Jove,  I  'd  not  take  his  title,  and 
your  brains,  to  have  such  a  sin  on  my  conscience !  " 

"  We  are  happily  not  called  on  to  judge  the  act,"  said 
Upton,  cautiously. 

''  And  why  not?  Is  it  not  every  honest  man's  duty  to  re- 
probate whatever  he  detects  dishonorable  or  disgraceful  ?  I 
do  judge  him,  and  sentence  him  too,  and  I  say,  moreover, 
that  a  more  cold-blooded  piece  of  cruelty  I  never  heard  of. 
He  trains  up  this  poor  boy  from  childhood  to  fancy  himself 
the  heir  to  his  station  and  fortune ;  he  nurses  in  him  all  the 
pride  that  only  a  high  rank  can  cover ;  and  then,  when  the 
lad's  years  have  brought  him  to  the  period  when  these  things 
assume  all  their  value,  he  sends  for  him  to  tell  him  he  is  a 
bastard." 

''It  is  not  impossible  that  I  think  worse  of  Glencore's 
conduct  than  you  do  yourself,"  said  Upton,  gravely. 


A  TfiTE-A-TfiTE.  131 

"  But  you  never  told  him  so,  I'll  be  sworn, — you  never 
said  to  him  it  was  a  rascally  action.  I'll  lay  a  hundred 
pounds  on  it,  you  only  expostulated  on  the  inexpediency,  or 
the  inconvenience,  or  some  such  trumpery  consideration,  and 
did  not  tell  him,  in  round  numbers,  that  what  he  had  done 
was  an  infamy." 

''Then  I  fancy  you'd  lose  your  money,  pretty  much  a& 
you  are  losing  your  temper,  —  that  is,  without  getting  any- 
thing in  requital." 

"  What  did  you  say  to  him,  then?  "  said  Harcourt,  slightly 
abashed. 

"  A  great  deal  in  the  same  strain  as  you  have  just  spoken 
in,  doubtless  not  as  warm  in  vituperation,  but  possibly  as 
likely  to  produce  an  effect ;  nor  is  it  in  the  least  necessary  to 
dwell  upon  that.  What  Glencore  has  done,  and  what  I  have 
said  about  it,  both  belong  to  the  past.  They  are  over,  — 
they  are  irrevocable.  It  is  to  what  concerns  the  present  and 
the  future  I  wish  now  to  address  myself,  and  to  interest 

you." 

"Why,  the  boy's  name  was  in  the  Peerage, — I  read  it 
there  myself." 

"  My  dear  Harcourt,  you  must  have  paid  very  little  atten- 
tion to  me  a  while  ago,  or  you  would  have  understood  how 
that  occurred." 

"And  here  were  all  the  people,  the  tenantry  on  the 
estate,  calling  him  the  young  lord,  and  the  poor  fellow 
growing  up  with  the  proud  consciousness  that  the  title  was 
his  due." 

"  There  is  not  a  hardship  of  the  case  I  have  not  pictured 
to  my  own  mind  as  forcibly  as  you  can  describe  it,"  said 
Upton;  "but  I  really  do  not  perceive  that  any  reprobation 
of  the  past  has  in  the  slightest  assisted  me  in  providing  for 
the  future." 

"  And  then,"  murmured  Harcourt,  —  for  all  the  while  he 
was  pursuing  his  own  train  of  thought,  quite  irrespective  of 
all  Upton  was  saying,  —  "  and  then  he  turns  him  adrift  on 
the  world  without  friend  or  fortune." 

"It  is  precisely  that  he  may  have  both  the  one  and  the 
ojher  that  I  have  come  to  confer  with  you  now,"  replied 
Upton.     "Glencore  has  made  a  liberal   provision   for  the 


132        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

boy,  and  asked  me  to  become  his  guardian.  I  have  no 
fancy  for  the  trust,  but  I  did  n't  see  how  I  could  decline  it. 
In  this  letter  he  assigns  to  him  an  income,  which  shall  be 
legally  secured  to  him.  He  commits  to  me  the  task  of 
directing  his  education,  and  suggesting  some  future  career, 
and  for  both  these  objects  I  want  your  counsel." 

''Education,  —  prospects,  —  why,  what  are  you  talking 
about?  A  poor  fellow  who  has  not  a  name,  nor  a  home, 
nor  one  to  acknowledge  him,  —  what  need  has  he  of  education, 
or  what  chance  of  prospects  ?  I  'd  send  him  to  sea,  and  if 
he  was  n't'  drowned  before  he  came  to  manhood,  I  'd  give 
him  his  fortune,  whatever  it  was,  and  say,  '  Go  settle  in 
some  of  the  colonies.'  You  have  no  right  to  train  him  up  to 
meet  fresh  mortifications  and  insults  in  life;  to  be  flouted 
by  every  fellow  that  has  a  father,  and  outraged  by  every  cur 
whose  mother  was  married." 

"  And  are  the  colonies  especially  inhabited  by  illegitimate 
offspring  ?  "  said  Upton,  dryly. 

' '  At  least  he  'd  not  be  met  with  a  rebuff  at  every  step 
he  made.  The  rude  life  of  toil  would  be  better  than  the 
polish  of  a  civilization  that  could  only  reflect  upon  him." 

"Not  badly  said,  Harcourt,"  said  Upton,  smiling;  "but 
as  to  the  boy,  I  have  other  prospects.  He  has,  if  I  mistake 
not,  very  good  faculties.  You  estimate  them  even  higher. 
I  don't  see  why  they  should  be  neglected.  If  he  merely 
possess  the  mediocrity  of  gifts  which  make  men  tolerable 
lawyers  and  safe  doctors,  why,  perhaps,  he  may  turn  them 
into  some  channel.  If  he  really  can  lay  claim  to  higher 
qualities,   they  must  not  be  thrown  away." 

"Which  means  that  he  ought  to  be  bred  up  to  diplo- 
macy," said  Harcourt. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  other,  with  a  bland  inclination  of  the 
head. 

"  And  what  can  an  old  dragoon  like  myself  contribute  to 
such  an  object?  "  asked  Harcourt. 

"You  can  be  of  infinite  service  in  many  ways,"  said 
Upton ;  "  and  for  the  present  I  wish  to  leave  the  boy  in  your 
care,  till  I  can  learn  something  about  my  own  destiny. 
This,  of  course,  I  shall  know  in  a  few  days.  Meanwhile 
you  '11  look  after  him,  and  as  soon  as  his  removal  becomes 


A  T£TE-A-TfiTE.  133 

safe  you  '11  take  him  away  from  this,  —  it  does  not  much 
matter  whither;  probably  some  healthy,  secluded  spot  in 
Wales,  for  a  week  or  two,  would  be  advisable.  Glencore 
and  he  must  not  meet  again ;  if  ever  they  are  to  do  so,  it 
must  be  after  a  considerable  lapse  of  time." 

' '  Have  you  thought  of  a  name  for  him,  or  is  his  to  be 
still  Massy?"  asked  Harcourt,  bluntly. 

"He  may  take  the  maternal  name  of  Glencore's  family, 
and  be  called  Doyle,  and  the  settlements  could  be  drawn  up 
in  that  name." 

"I'll  be  shot  if  I  like  to  have  any  share  in  the  whole 
transaction !  Some  day  or  other  it  will  all  come  out,  and 
who  knows  how  much  blame  may  be  imputed  to  us,  perhaps 
for  actually  advising  the  entire  scheme,"  said  Harcourt. 

"You  must  see,  my  dear  Harcourt,  that  you  are  only 
refusing  aid  to  alleviate  an  evil,  and  not  to  devise  one.  If 
this  boy  — " 

"Well  —  well  —  I  give  in.  I'd  rather  comply  at  once 
than  be  preached  into  acquiescence.  Even  when  you  do  not 
convince  me,  I  feel  ashamed  to  oppose  myself  to  so  much 
cleverness  ;  so,  I  repeat,  I  'm  at  your  orders." 

"  Admirably  spoken,"  said  Upton,  with  a  smile. 

"My  greatest  difficulty  of  all,"  said  Harcourt,  "will  be 
to  meet  Glencore  again  after  this.  I  know  —  I  feel  —  I 
never  can  forgive  him." 

"  Perhaps  he  will  not  ask  forgiveness,  Harcourt,"  said 
the  other,  with  one  of  his  slyest  of  looks.  "  Glencore  is  a 
strange,  self-opinionated  fellow,  and  has°amongst  other  odd 
notions  that  of  going  the  road  he  likes  best  himself.  Besides, 
there  is  another  consideration  here,  and  with  no  man  will  it 
weigh  more  than  with  yourself.  Glencore  has  been  danger- 
ously ill,  —  at  this  moment  we  can  scarcely  say  that  he  has 
recovered ;  his  state  is  yet  one  of  anxiety  and  doubt.  You 
are  the  last  who  would  forget  such  infirmity ;  nor  is  it  neces- 
sary to  secure  your  pity  that  I  should  say  how  seriously  the 
poor  fellow  is  now  suffering." 

"  I  trust  he'll  not  speak  to  me  about  this  business,"  said 
Harcourt,  after  a  pause. 

' '  Very  probably  he  will  not.  He  will  know  that  I  have 
already  told  you  everything,  so  that  there  will  be  no  need  of 
any  communication  from  him." 


134        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

*'  I  wish  from  my  heart  and  soul  I  had  never  come  here. 
I  would  to  Heaven  I  had  gone  away  at  once,  as  I  first  in- 
tended. I  like  that  boy ;  I  feel  he  has  fine  stuff  in  him  ;  and 
now  —  " 

"  Come,  come,  Harcourt,  it's  the  fault  of  all  soft-hearted 
fellows,  like  yourself,  that  their  kindhness  degenerates  into 
selfishness,  and  they  have  such  a  regard  for  their  own  feel- 
ings that  they  never  agree  to  anything  that  wounds  them. 
Just  remember  that  you  and  I  have  very  small  parts  in  this 
drama,  and  the  best  way  we  can  do  is  to  fill  them  without 
giving  ourselves  the  airs  of  chief  characters." 

"You're  at  your  old  game,  Upton;  you  are  always 
ready  to  wet  yourself,  provided  you  give  another  fellow  a 
ducking." 

"  Only  if  he  get  a  worse  one,  or  take  longer  to  dry  after 
it,"  remarked  Upton,  laughing. 

"Quite  true,  by  Jove!"  chimed  in  the  other;  "you 
take  special  care  to  come  off  best.  And  now  you  're  going," 
added  he,  as  Upton  rose  to  withdraw,  "and  I'm  certain 
that  I  have  not  half  comprehended  what  you  want  from 
me." 

"  You  shall  have  it  in  writing,  Harcourt ;  I'll  send  you  a 
clear  despatch  the  first  spare  moment  I  can  command  after 
I  reach  town.  The  boy  will  not  be  fit  to  move  for  some 
time  to  come,  and  so  good-bye." 

"  You  don't  know  where  they  are  going  to  send  you?" 

"  I  cannot  frame  even  a  conjecture,"  sighed  Upton,  lan- 
guidly. "  I  ought  to  be  in  the  Brazils  for  a  week  or  so  about 
that  slave  question ;  and  then  the  sooner  I  reach  Constanti- 
nople the  better." 

"  Sha'  n't  they  want  you  at  Paris?  "  asked  Harcourt,  who 
felt  a  kind  of  quiet  vengeance  in  developing  what  he  deemed 
the  weak  vanity  of  the  other. 

"Yes,"  sighed  he  again;  "but  I  can't  be  everywhere." 
And  so  saying,  he  lounged  away,  while  it  would  have  taken 
a  far  more  subtle  listener  than  Harcourt  to  say  whether 
he  was  mystifying  the  other,  or  the  dupe  of  his  own 
self-esteem. 


CHAPTER  XVin. 


BILLY   TRAYNOR   AS    ORATOR. 


Three  weeks  rolled  over,  —  an  interval  not  without  its  share 
of  interest  for  the  inhabitants  of  the  little  village  of  Leenane, 
since  on  one  morning  Mr.  Craggs  had  made  his  appearance 
on  his  way  to  Clifden,  and  after  an  absence  of  two  days 
returned  to  the  Castle.  The  subject  for  popular  discussion 
and  surmise  had  not  yet  declined,  when  a  boat  was  seen  to 
leave  Glencore,  heavily  laden  with  trunks  and  travelling 
gear;  and  as  she  neared  the  land,  the  ''  lord"  was  detected 
amongst  the  passengers,  looking  very  ill,  —  almost  dying ; 
he  passed  up  the  little  street  of  the  village,  scarcely  noticing 
the  uncovered  heads  which  saluted  him  respectfully.  Indeed, 
he  scarcely  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and,  as  the  acute  obsei*vers 
remarked,  never  once  turned  a  glance  towards  the  opposite 
shore,  where  the  Castle  stood. 

He  had  not  reached  the  end  of  the  village,  when  a  chaise 
with  four  horses  arrived  at  the  spot.  No  time  was  lost  in 
arranging  the  trunks  and  portmanteaus,  and  Lord  Glencore 
sat  moodily  on  a  bank,  listlessly  regarding  what  went  for- 
ward. At  length  Craggs  came  up,  and,  touching  his  cap  in 
military  fashion,  announced  all  was  ready. 

Lord  Glencore  arose  slowly,  and  looked  languidly  around 
him ;  his  features  wore  a  mingled  expression  of  weariness 
and  anxiety,  like  one  not  fully  awakened  from  an  oppres- 
sive dream.  He  turned  "his  eyes  on  the  people,  who  at  a 
respectful  distance  stood  around,  and  in  a  voice  of  peculiar 
melancholy  said,  "  Good-bye." 

' '  A  good  journey  to  you,  my  Lord,  and  safe  back  again 
to  us,"  cried  a  number  together. 

'^Eh  —  what  —  what  was  that?"  cried  he,  suddenly;  and 
the  tones  were  shrill  and  discordant  in  which  he  spoke. 

A  warning  gesture  from  Craggs  imposed  silence  on  the 
crowd,  and  not  a  word  was  uttered. 


136        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"I  thought  they  said  something  about  coming  back 
again,'*  muttered  Glencore,  gloomily. 

"They  were  wishing  you  a  good  journey,  my  Lord," 
replied  Craggs. 

"Oh,  that  was  it,  was  it?"  And  so  saying,  with  bent- 
down  head  he  walked  feebly  forward  and  entered  the  car- 
riage. Craggs  was  speedily  on  the  box,  and  the  next 
moment  they  were  away. 

It  is  no  part  of  our  task  to  dwell  on  the  sage  speculations 
and  wise  surmises  of  the  village  on  this  event.  They 
had  not,  it  is  true,  much  "evidence"  before  them,  but 
they  were  hardy  guessers,  and  there  was  very  little  within 
the  limits  of  possibility  which  they  did  not  summon  to  the 
aid  of  their  imaginations.  All,  however,  were  tolerably 
agreed  upon  one  point,  —  that  to  leave  the  place  while  the 
young  lord  was  still  unable  to  quit  his  bed,  and  too  weak 
to  sit  up,  was  unnatural  and  unfeeling ;  traits  which,  ' '  after 
all,"  they  thought  "not  very  surprising,  since  the  likes  of 
them  lords  never  cared  for  anybody." 

Colonel  Harcourt  still  remained  at  Glencore,  and  under 
his  rigid  sway  the  strictest  blockade  of  the  coast  was 
maintained,  nor  was  any  intercourse  whatever  permitted 
with  the  village.  A  boat  from  the  Castle,  meeting  another 
from  Leenane,  half  way  in  the  lough,  received  the  letters 
and  whatever  other  resources  the  village  supplied.  All  was 
done  with  the  rigid  exactness  of  a  quarantine  regulation; 
and  if  the  mainland  had  been  scourged  with  plague,  stricter 
measures  of  exclusion  could  scarcely  have  been  enforced. 

In  comparison  with  the  present  occupant  of  the  Castle, 
the  late  one  was  a  model  of  amiability;  and  the  village, 
as  is  the  wont  in  the  case,  now  discovered  a  vast  number 
of  good  qualities  in  the  "  lord,"  when  they  had  Iqst  him. 
After  a  while,  however,  the  guesses,  the  speculations,  and 
the  comparisons  all  died  away,  and  the  Castle  of  Glencore 
was  as  much  dreamland  to  their  imaginations  as,  seen  across 
the  lough  in  the  dim  twilight  of  an  autumn  evening,  its 
towers  might  have  appeared  to  their  eyes. 

It  was  about  a  month  after  Lord  Glencore's  departure, 
of  a  fine,  soft  evening  in  summer,  Billy  Traynor  suddenly 
appeared  in  the  village.     Billy  was   one  of  a  class  who, 


BILLY  TRAYNOK  AS  ORATOR.  137 

whatever  their  rank  in  life,  are  always  what  Coleridge  would 
have  called  ''  noticeable  men."  He  was  soon,  therefore, 
surrounded  with  a  knot  of  eager  and  inquiring  friends,  all 
solicitous  to  know  something  of  the  life  he  was  leading,  what 
they  were  doing  "  beyant  at  the  Castle." 

"It's  a  mighty  quiet  studious  kind  of  life,"  said  Billy, 
"but  agrees  with  me  wonderfully;  fori  may  say  that  until 
now  I  never  was  able  to  give  my  '  janius '  fair  play.  Pro- 
fessional life  is  the  ruin  of  the  student ;  and  being  always 
obleeged  to  be  thinkin'  of  the  bags  destroyed  my  taste  for 
letters."  A  grin  of  self-approval  at  his  own  witticism  closed 
this  speech. 

"  But  is  it  true,  Billy,  the  lord  is  going  to  break  up  house 
entirely,  and  not  come  back  here?  "  asked  Peter  Slevin,  the 
sacristan,  whose  rank  and  station  warranted  his  assuming 
the  task  of  cross-questioner. 

"  There 's  various  ways  of  breakin'  up  a  house,"  said  Billy. 
"  Ye  may  do  so  in  a  moral  sinse,  or  in  a  physical  sinse  ;  you 
may  obliterate,  or  extinguish,  or,  without  going  so  far,  you 
may  simply  obfuscate,  — do  you  perceave?  " 

"  Yes  !  "  said  the  sacristan,  on  whom  every  eye  was  now 
bent,  to  see  if  he  was  able  to  follow  subtleties  that  had  out- 
witted the  rest. 

"And  whin  I  say  ohfuscate^^'  resumed  Billy,  ''I  open  a 
question  of  disputed  etymology,  bekase  tho'  Lucretius  thinks 
the  word  obfuscator  original, -there's  many  supposes  it  comes 
from  ob  and  fticus,  the  dye  the  ancients  used  in  their  wool, 
as  we  find  in  Horace,  lanafuco  medicata;  while  Cicero  em- 
ploys it  in  another  sense,  and  says,  facere  fucum,  which  is 
as  much  as  to  say,  humbuggin'  somebody,  —  do  ye  mind  ?  " 

"Begorra,  he  might  guess  that  anyhow!"  muttered  a 
shrewd  little  tailor,  with  a  significance  that  provoked  hearty 
laughter. 

"And  now,"  continued  Billy,  with  an  air  of  triumph, 
"we'll  proceed  to  the  next  point." 

"Ye  needn't  trouble  yerself  then,"  said  Terry  Lynch, 
"  for  Peter  has  gone  home." 

And  so,  to  the  amusement  of  the  meeting,  it  turned  out  to 
be  the  case ;  the  sacristan  had  retired  from  the  controversy. 

Come  in   here  to  Mrs.  Moore's,  Billy,  and  take  a  glass 


(( 


138        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

with  us,"  said  Terry;   "it  isn't  often  we  see  you  in  these 
parts." 

' '  If  the  honorable  company  will  graciously  vouchsafe  and 
condescind  to  let  me  trate  them  to  a  half-gallon,"  said  Billy, 
"  it  will  be  the  proudest  event  of  my  terrestrial  existence." 

The  proposition  was  received  with  a  cordial  enthusiasm, 
flattering  to  all  concerned ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  after,  Billy 
Traynor  sat  at  the  head  of  a  long  table  in  the  neat  parlor  of 
"The  Griddle,"  with  a  company  of  some  fifteen  or  sixteen 
very  convivially  disposed  friends  around  him. 

"  If  I  was  Caesar,  or  Lucretius,  or  Nebuchadnezzar,  I 
could  n't  be  prouder,"  said  Billy,  as  he  looked  down  the 
board.  "And  let  moralists  talk  as  they  will,  there's  a 
beautiful  expansion  of  sentiment,  there's  a  fine  genial 
overflowin'  of  the  heart,  in  gatherin's  like  this,  where  we 
mingle  our  feelin's  and  our  philosophy ;  and  our  love  and 
our  learning  walk  hand  in  hand  like  brothers  —  pass  the 
sperits,  Mr.  Shea.  If  we  look  to  the  ancient  writers,  what 
do  we  see !  —  Lemons !  bring  in  some  lemons,  Mickey.  — 
What  do  we  see,  I  say,  but  that  the  very  highest  enjoyment 
of  the  haythen  gods  was— ^  Hot  wather!  why  won't  they 
send  in  more  hot  wather?" 

"  Begorra,  if  I  was  a  haythen  god,  I  'd  like  a  little  whisky 
in  it,"  muttered  Terry,  dryly. 

"  Where  was  I?  "  asked  Billy,  a  little  disconcerted  by  this 
sally,  and  the  laugh  it  excited.  "I  was  expatiatin'  upon 
celestial  convivialities.  The  nodes  coenceque  deum, — them 
elegant  hospitalities  where  wisdom  was  moistened  with  nec- 
tar, and  wit  washed  down  with  ambrosia.  It  is  not,  by 
coorse,  to  be  expected,"  continued  he,  modestly,  "  that  we 
mere  mortials  can  compete  with  them  elegant  refections. 
But,  as  Ovid  says,  we  can  at  least  diem  jucundam  decipere." 

The  unknown  tongue  had  now  restored  to  Billy  all  the 
reverence  and  respect  of  his  auditory,  and  he  continued  to 
expatiate  vefy  eloquently  on  the  wholesome  advantages  to 
be  derived  from  convivial  intercourse,  both  amongst  gods 
and  men ;  rather  slyly  intimating  that  either  on  the  score  of 
the  fluids,  or  the  conversation,  his  own  leanings  lay  towards 
"  the  humanities." 

"For,  after  all,"  said  he,  "'tis  our  own  wakenesses  is 


BILLY  TRAYNOR  AS  ORATOR.  139 

often  the  source  of  our  most  refined  enjoyments.  No,  Mrs. 
Cassidy,  ye  needn't  be  blushin'.  I'm  considerin'  my  sub- 
ject in  a  high  ethnological  and  metaphysical  sinse."  Mrs. 
Cassidy's  confusion,  and  the  mirth  it  excited,  here  inter- 
rupted the  orator. 

'*The  meeting  is  never  tired  of  hearin'  you,  Billy,"  said 
Terry  Lynch;  "but  if  it  was  plazin'  to  ye  to  give  us  a 
song,  we  'd  enjoy  it  greatly." 

'^Ah!"  said  Billy,  with  a  sigh,  "I  have  taken  my 
partin'  kiss  with  the  Muses ;  non  mild  licet  increpare  digitis 
lyram :  — 

"  *  No  more  to  feel  poetic  fire, 

No  more  to  touch  the  soundin'  lyre ; 
But  wiser  coorses  to  begin, 
I  now  forsake  my  violin/  " 

An  honest  outburst  of  regret  and  sorrow  broke  from  the 
assembly,  who  eagerly  pressed  for  an  explanation  of  this 
calamitous  change. 

"  The  thing  is  this,"  said  Billy:  "  if  a  man  is  a  creature 
of  mere  leisure  and  amusement,  the  fine  arts  —  and  by  the 
fine  arts  I  mean  music,  paintin',  and  the  ladies  —  is  an 
elegant  and  very  refined  subject  of  cultivation ;  but  when 
you  raise  your  cerebrial  faculties  to  grander  and  loftier  con- 
siderations, to  explore  the  difficult  ragions  of  polemic  or 
political  truth,  to  investigate  the  subtleties  of  the  schools, 
and  penetrate  the  mysteries  of  science,  then,  take  my  word 
for  it,  the  fine  arts  is  just  snares,  —  devil  a  more  than  snares  ! 
And  whether  it  is  soft  sounds  seduces  you,  or  elegant  tints, 
or  the  union  of  both,  —  women,  I  mane,  —  you  '11  never  arrive 
at  anything  great  or  tri-imi-phant  till  you  wane  yourself 
away  from  the  likes  of  them  vanities.  Look  at  the  hay  then 
mythology;  consider  for  a  moment  who  is  the  chap  that 
represents  Music,  —  a  lame  blackguard,  with  an  ugly  face, 
they  call  Pan.  Ay,  indeed.  Pan!  If  you  wanted  to  see 
what  respect  they  had  for  the  art,  it 's  easy  enough  to  guess, 
when  this  crayture  represints  it ;  and  as  to  Paintin',  on  my 
conscience,  they  have  n't  a  god  at  all  that  ever  took  to  the 
brush. — Pass  up  the  sperits,  Mickey,"  said  he,  somewhat 
blown  and  out  of  breath  by  this  effort.  *'  Maybe,"  said  he, 
"I'm  wearin'  you." 


140        THE  FORTUNES  OE  GLENCORE. 

*'  No,  no,  no,"  loudly  responded  the  meeting. 

"  Maybe  I  'm  Imposin'  too  much  of  personal  details  on  the 
house,"  added  he,  pompously. 

"  Not  at  all;  never  a  bit,"  cried  the  company. 

*'  Because,"  resumed  he,  slowly,  "  if  I  did  so,  I  'd  have  at 
least  the  excuse  of  sayin',  like  the  great  Pitt,  '  These  may  be 
my  last  words  from  this  place.'" 

An  unfeigned  murmur  of  sorrow  ran  through  the  meeting, 
and  he  resumed :  — 

"  Ay,  ladies  and  gintlemin,  Billy  Traynor  is  takin'  his 
'  farewell  benefit ;  '  he's  not  humbuggin'.  I 'm  not  like  them 
chaps  that's  always  positively  goin',  but  stays  on  at  the 
unanimous  request  of  the  whole  world.  No;  I'm  really 
goin'  to  leave  you." 

"  What  for?  Where  to,  Billy? "  broke  from  a  number  of 
voices  together. 

''  I  '11  tell  ye,"  said  he,  — ''  at  least  so  far  as  I  can  tell ;  be- 
cause it  would  n't  be  right  nor  decent  to  '  print  the  whole  of 
the  papers  for  the  house,'  as  they  say  in  parliamint.  I'm 
going  abroad  with  the  young  lord ;  we  are  going  to  improve 
our  minds,  and  cultivate  our  janiuses,  by  study  and  foreign 
ti'avel.  We  are  first  to  settle  in  Germany,  where  we  're  to 
enter  a  University,  and  commince  a  coorse  of  modern 
tongues,  French,  Sweadish,  and  Spanish;  imbibin'  at  the 
same  time  a  smatterin'  of  science,  such  as  chemistry,  con- 
chology,  and  the  use  of  the  globes." 

"  Oh  dear!  oh  dear!  "  murmured  the  meeting,  in  wonder 
and  admiration. 

"  I  'm  not  goin'  to  say  that  we  '11  neglect  mechanics,  meta- 
physics, and  astrology ;  for  we  mane  to  be  cosmonopolists  in 
knowledge.  As  for  myself,  ladies  and  gintlemin,  it 's  a 
proud  day  that  sees  me  standin'  here  to  say  these  words.  I, 
that  was  ragged,  without  a  shoe  to  my  foot,  —  without 
breeches,  —  never  mind,  I  was,  as  the  poet  says,  nudus  num.- 
mis  ac  vestimentis, — 

"  *  I  have  n't  sixpence  in  my  pack, 
I  have  n't  small  clothes  to  my  hack,* 

carryin'  the  bag  many  a  weary  mile,  through  sleet  and  snow, 
for  six  pounds  tin  per  annum,  and  no  pinsion  for  wounds  or 


BILLY  TRAYNOR  AS  ORATOR.  141 

superannuation  ;  and  now  I  'm  to  be  —  it  is  n't  easy  to  say 
what  —  to  the  young  lord  a  spacies  of  humble  companion, 
—  not  manial,  do  you  mind,  nothing  manial ;  what  the  Latins 
called  a  famulus,  which  was  quite  a  different  thing  from  a 
servus.  The  former  bein'  a  kind  of  domestic  adviser,  a 
deputy-assistant,  monitor-general,  as  a  body  might  say. 
There,  now,  if  I  discoorsed  for  a  month,  I  could  n't  tell  you 
more  about  myself  and  my  future  prospects.  I  own  to  you 
that  I  'm  proud  of  my  good  luck,  and  I  would  n't  exchange 
it  to  be  Emperor  of  Jamaica,  or  King  of  the  Bahamia 
Islands." 

If  we  have  been  prolix  in  our  oflSce  of  reporter  to  Billy 
Traynor,  our  excuse  is  that  his  discourse  will  have  contrib- 
uted so  far  to  the  reader's  enlightenment  as  to  save  us  the 
task  of  recapitulation.  At  the  same  time,  it  is  but  justice  to 
the  accomplished  orator  that  we  should  say  we  have  given 
but  the  most  meagre  outline  of  an  address  which,  to  use  the 
newspaper  phrase,  "occupied  three  hours  in  the  delivery." 
The  truth  was,  Billy  was  in  vein ;  the  listeners  were  patient, 
the  punch  strong :  nor  is  it  every  speaker  who  has  had  the 
good  fortune  of  such  happy  accessories. 


CHAPTER   XrX. 

THE    CASCINE    AT    FLORENCE, 

It  was  spring,  and  in  Italy !  one  of  those  half-dozen  days, 
at  very  most,  when,  the  feeling  of  winter  departed,  a  gentle 
freshness  breathes  through  the  air ;  trees  stir  softly,  and  as 
if  by  magic ;  the  earth  becomes  carpeted  with  flowers,  whose 
odors  seem  to  temper,  as  it  were,  the  exciting  atmosphere. 
An  occasional  cloud,  fleecy  and  jagged,  sails  lazily  aloft, 
marking  its  shadow  on  the  mountain  side.     In  a  few  days 

—  a  few  hours,  perhaps  —  the  blue  sky  will  be  unbroken, 
the  air  hushed,  a  hot  breath  will  move  among  the  leaves,  or 
pant  over  the  trickling  fountains. 

In  this  fast-flitting  period,  —  we  dare  not  call  it  season,  — 
the  Cascine  of  Florence  is  singularly  beautiful ;  on  one  side, 
the  gentle  river  stealing  past  beneath  the  shadowing  foliage ; 
on  the  other,  the  picturesque  mountain  towards  Fiesole, 
dotted  with  its  palaces  and  terraced  gardens.  The  ancient 
city  itself  is  partly  seen,  and  the  massive  Duomo  and  the 
Palazzo  Vecchio  tower  proudly  above  the  trees !  What 
other  people  of  Europe  have  such  a  haunt  ^  —  what  other 
people  would  know  so  thoroughly  how  to  enjoy  it?  The  day 
was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  the  Piazzone  was  now  filled 
with  equipages.  There  were  the  representatives  of  every 
European   people,  and   of  nations  far  away  over   the  seas, 

—  splendid  Russians,  brilliant  French,  splenetic,  supercilious 
English,  and  ponderous  Germans,  mingled  with  the  less 
marked  nationalities  of  Belgium  and  Holland,  and  even 
America.  Everything  that  called  itself  Fashion  was  there 
to  swell  the  tide ;  and  although  a  choice  military  band  was 
performing  with  exquisite  skill  the  favorite  overtures  of  the 
day,  the  noise  and  tumult  of  conversation  almost  drowned 
their  notes.     Now,  the  Cascine  is  to  the  world  of  society 


THE   CASCINE  AT  FLORENCE.  143 

what  the  Bourse  is  to  the  world  of  ^  trade.  It  is  the  great 
centre  of  all  news  and  intelligence,  where  markets  and  bar- 
gains of  intercourse  are  transacted,  and  where  the  scene  of 
past  pleasure  is  revived,  and  the  plans  of  future  enjoyment 
are  canvassed.  The  great  and  the  wealthy  are  there,  to  see 
and  to  meet  with  each  other.  The  proud  equipages  lie  side 
by  side,  like  great  liners ;  while  phaetons,  like  fast  frigates, 
shoot  swiftly  by,  and  solitary  dandies  flit  past  in  varieties  of 
conveyance  to  which  sea-craft  can  offer  no  analogies.  All  are 
busy,  eager,  and  occupied.  Scandal  holds  here  its  festival, 
and  the  misdeeds  of  every  capital  of  Europe  are  now  being 
discussed.  The  higher  themes  of  politics  occupy  but  few ; 
the  interests  of  literature  attract  still  less.  It  is  essentially 
of  the  world  they  talk,  and  it  must  be  owned  they  do  it  like 
adepts.  The  last  witticism  of  Paris,  —  the  last  duel  at  Ber- 
lin, —  who  has  fled  from  his  creditors  in  England,  —  who  has 
run  away  from  her  husband  at  Naples,  —  all  are  retailed  with 
a  serious  circumstantiality  that  would  lead  one  to  believe  that 
gossip  maintained  its  "own  correspondent"  in  every  city  of 
the  Continent.  Moralists  might  fancy,  perhaps,  that  in  the 
tone  these  subjects  are  treated  there  would  mingle  a  repro- 
bation of  the  bad,  and  a  due  estimate  of  the  opposite,  if  it 
ever  occurred  at  all;  but  as  surely  would  they  be  disap- 
pointed. Never  were  censors  more  lenient,  —  never  were 
critics  so  charitable.  The  transgressions  against  good- 
breeding —  the  "gaucheries"  of  manner,  the  solecisms  in 
dress,  language,  or  demeanor — do  indeed  meet  with  sharp 
reproof  and  cutting  sarcasm;  but,  in  recompense  for  such 
severity,  how  gently  do  they  deal  with  graver  offences  !  For 
the  felonies  they  can  always  discover  ' '  the  attenuating  cir- 
cumstances ;  "  for  the  petty  larcenies  of  fashion  they  have 
nothing  but  whipcord. 

Amidst  the  various  knots  where  such  discussions  were 
carried  on,  one  was  eminentl}^  conspicuous.  It  was  around 
a  handsome  open  carriage,  whose  horses,  harnessing,  and 
liveries  were  all  in  the  most  perfect  taste.  The  equipage 
might  possibly  have  been  deemed  showy  in  Hyde  Park ;  but 
in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  or  the  Cascine  it  must  be  pro- 
nounced the  acme  of  elegance.  Whatever  might  have  been 
the  differences  of  national  opinion  on  this  point,  there  could 


144        THE  FORTUNES  OE  GLENCORE. 

assuredly  have  been  none  as  to  the  beauty  of  those  who 
occupied '  it. 

Though  a  considerable  interval  of  years  divided  them, 
the  aunt  and  her  niece  had  a  wonderful  resemblance  to  each 
other.     They  were  both  —  the  rarest  of  all  forms  of  beauty 

—  blond  Italians;  that  is,  with  light  hair  and  soft  gray 
eyes.  They  had  a  peculiar  tint  of  skin,  deeper  and  mel- 
lower than  we  see  in  Northern  lands,  and  an  expression  of 
mingled  seriousness  and  softness  that  only  pertains  to  the 
South  of  Europe.  There  was  a  certain  coquetry  in  the  simi- 
larity of  their  dress,  which  in  many  parts  was  precisely 
alike ;  and  although  the  niece  was  but  fifteen,  and  the  aunt 
above  thirty,  it  needed  not  the  aid  of  flattery  to  make  many 
mistake  one  for  the  other. 

Beauty,  like  all  other  "  Beaux  Arts,"  has  its  distinctions. 
The  same  public  opinion  that  enthrones  the  sculptor  or  the 
musician,  confers  its  crown  on  female  loveliness ;  and  by  this 
acclaim  were  they  declared  Queens  of  Beauty.  To  any  one 
visiting  Italy  for  the  first  time,  there  would  have  seemed 
something  ver^^  strange  in  the  sort  of  homage  rendered  them : 
a  reverence  and  respect  only  accorded  elsewhere  to  royalties, 

—  a  deference  that  verged  on  actual  humiliation,  —  and  yet 
all  this  blended  with  a  subtle  familiarity  that  none  but  an 
Italian  can  ever  attain  to.  The  uncovered  head,  the  attitude 
of  respectful  attention,  the  patient  expectancy  of  notice, 
the  glad  air  of  him  under  recognition,  were  all  there ;  and 
yet,  through  these,  there  was  dashed  a  strange  tone  of  inti- 
macy, as  though  the  observances  were  but  a  thin  crust  over 
deeper  feelings.  "La  Contessa"  —  for  she  was  especially 
*'  the  Countess,"  as  one  illustrious  man  of  our  own  country 
was  "the  Duke" — possessed  every  gift  which  claims  pre- 
eminence in  this  fair  city.  She  was  eminently  beautiful, 
young,  charming  in  her  manners,  with  ample  fortune ;  and, 
lastly,  —  ah !  good  reader,  you  would  surely  be  puzzled  to 
supply  that  "  lastly,"  the  more  as  we  say  that  in  it  lies  an 
excellence  without  which  all  the  rest  are  of  little  worth,  and 
yet  with  it  are  objects  of  worship,  almost  of  adoration,  — 
she  was  —  separated  from  her  husband  !  There  must  have 
been  an  epidemic,  a  kind  of  rot,  among  husbands  at  one 
period;  for  we  scarcely  remember  a  very  pretty  woman, 


THE  CASCINE  AT  FLORENCE.  145 

from  five-and- twenty  to  five-and- thirty,  who  had  not  been 
obliged  to  leave  hers  from  acts  of  cruelty  or  acts  of  brutal- 
ity, etc.,  that  only  husbands  are  capable  of,  or  of  which 
their  ^poor  wives  are  ever  the  victims.  ^ 

If  the  moral  geography  of  Europe  be  ever  written,  the 
region  south  of  the  Alps  will  certainly  be  colored  with  that 
tint,  whatever  it  be,  that  describes  the  blessedness  of  a 
divorced  existence.  In  other  lands,  especially  in  our  own, 
the  separated  individual  labors  under  no  common  difficulty 
in  his  advances  to  society.  The  story  —  there  must  be  a 
story  —  of  his  separation  is  told  in  various  ways,  all,  of 
course,  to  his  disparagement.  Tyrant  or  victim,  it  is  hard 
to  say  under  which  title  he  comes  out  best,  —  so  much  for 
the  man ;  but  for  the  woman  there  is  no  plea :  judgment  is 
pronounced  at  once,  without  the  merits.  Fugitive,  or  fled 
from,  —  who  inquires  ?  she  is  one  that  few  men  dare  to 
recognize.  The  very  fact  that  to  mention  her  name  exacts 
an  explanation,  is  condemnatory.  What  a  boon  to  all  such 
must  it  be  that  there  is  a  climate  mild  enough  for  their 
malady,  and  a  country  that  will  suit  their  constitution ;  and 
not  only  that,  but  a  region  which  actually  pays  homage  to 
their  infirmity,  and  makes  of  their  itoartyrdom  a  triumph! 
As  you  go  to  Norway  for  salmon-fishing,  —  to  Bengal  to 
hunt  tigers,  —  to  St.  Petersburg  to  eat  caviare,  so  when 
divorced,  if  you  really  know  the  blessing  of  your  state,  go 
take  a  house  on  the  Arno.  Vast  as  are  the  material  re- 
sources of  our  globe,  the  moral  ones  are  infinitely  greater ; 
nor  need  we  despair,  some  day  or  other,  of  finding  an  island 
where  a  certificate  of  fraudulent  bankruptcy  will  be  deemed 
a  letter  of  credit,  and  an  evidence  of  insolvency  be  accepted 
as  qualification  to  open  a  bank. 

La  Contessa  inhabited  a  splendid  palace,  furnished  with 
magnificence ;  her  gardens  were  one  of  the  sights  of  the 
capital,  not  only  for  their  floral  display,  but  that  they  con- 
tained a  celebrated  group  by  Canova,  of  which  no  copy 
existed.  Her  gallery  was,  if  not  extensive,  enriched  with 
some  priceless  treasures  of  art;  and  with  all  these  she 
possessed  high  rank,  for  her  card  bore  the  name  of  La 
Comtesse  de  Glencore,  nee  Comtesse  della  Torre. 

The  reader  thus  knows  at  once,  if  not  actually  as  much 

10 


146        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

as  we  do  ourselves,  all  that  we  mean  to  impart  to  him; 
and  now  let  us  come  back  to  that  equipage  around  which 
swarmed  the  fashion  of  Florence,  eagerly  pressing  forward 
to  catch  a  word,  a ''smile,  or  even  a  look,  and  actually- 
perched  on  every  spot  from  which  they  could  obtain  a 
glimpse  of  those  within.  A  young  Russian  Prince,  with 
his  arm  in  a  sling,  had  just  recited  the  incident  of  his  late 
duel;  a  Neapolitan  Minister  had  delivered  a  rose-colored 
epistle  from  a  Royal  Highness  of  his  own  couii;.  A  Span- 
ish Grandee  had  deposited  his  offering  of  camellias,  which 
actually  covered  the  front  cushions  of  the  carriage;  and 
now  a  little  lane  was  formed  for  the  approach  of  the  old 
Duke  de  Brignolles,  who  made  his  advance  with  a  mingled 
courtesy  and  haughtiness  that  told  of  Versailles  and  long 
ago. 

A  very  creditable  specimen  of  the  old  noblesse  of  France 
was  the  Duke,  and  well  worthy  to  be  the  grandson  of  one 
who  was  Grand  Marechal  to  Louis  XIV.  Tall,  thin,  and 
slightly  stooped  from  age,  his  dark  eye  seemed  to  glisten 
the  brighter  beneath  his  shaggy  white  eyebrows.  He  had 
served  with  distinction  as  a  soldier,  and  been  an  ambas- 
sador at  the  court  of  the  Czar  Paul;  in  every  station  he 
had  filled  sustaining  the  character  of  a  true  and  loyal  gen- 
tleman, —  a  man  who  could  reflect  nothing  but  honor  upon 
the  great  country  he  belonged  to.  It  was  amongst  the 
scandal  of  Florence  that  he  was  the  most  devoted  of  La 
Contessa's  admirers ;  but  we  are  quite  willing  to  believe 
that  his  admiration  had  nothing  in  it  of  love.  At  all 
events,  she  distinguished  him  by  her  most  marked  notice. 
He  was  the  frequent  guest  of  her  choicest  dinners,  and  the 
constant  visitor  at  her  evenings  at  home.  It  was,  then, 
with  a  degree  of  favor  that  many  an  envious  heart  coveted, 
she  extended  her  hand  to  him  as  he  came  forward,  which  he 
kissed  with  all  the  lowly  deference  he  would  have  shown  to 
that  of  his  prince. 

'''•Man  cJier  Due"  said  she,  smiling,  "I  have  such  a 
store  of  grievances  to  lay  at  your  door.  The  essence  of 
violets  is  not  violets,  but  verbena.'* 

"  Charming  Comtesse,  I  had  it  direct  from  Pierrot's." 

"  Pierrot  is  a  traitor,  then,  that 's  all ;  and  where 's  Ida's 


THE  CASCINE  AT  FLORENCE.  147 

Arab?  is  he  to  be  here  to-day,  or  to-morrow?  When  are 
we  to  see  him  ?  " 

''  Why,  I  only  wrote  to  the  Emir  on  Tuesday  last." 

''Mais  a  quoi  bon  I' Emir  if  he  can't  do  impossibilities? 
Surely  the  very  thought  of  him  brings  up  the  Arabian 
Nights  and  the  Calif  Haroun.  By  the  way,  thank  you  for 
the  poignard.     It  is  true  Damascus,  is  it  not?  " 

*'  Of  course.     I  *d  not  have  dared  —  " 

*'  To  be  sure  not.  I  told  the  Archduchess  it  was.  I  wore 
it  in  my  Turkish  dress  on  Wednesday,  and  you,  false  man, 
would  n't  come  to  admire  me !  " 

"You  know  what  a  sad  day  was  that  for  me,  madam," 
said  he,  solemnly.  ''  It  was  the  anniversary  of  her  fate  who 
was  your  only  rival  in  beauty,  as  she  had  no  rival  in  unde- 
served misfortunes." 

''Pauvre  Reine!"  sighed  the  Countess,  and  held  her 
bouquet  to  her  face. 

"What  great  mass  of  papers  is  that  you  have  there, 
Duke?  "  resumed  she.     "  Can  it  be  a  joui-nal?  " 

"It  is  an  English  newspaper,  my  dear  Countess.  As  I 
know  you  do  not  receive  any  of  his  countrymen,  I  have  not 
asked  your  permission  to  present  the  Lord  Selby ;  but  hear- 
ing him  read  out  your  name  in  a  paragraph  here,  I  carried 
off  his  paper  to  have  it  translated  for  me.  You  read  Eng- 
lish, don't  you?" 

"Very  imperfectly,  and  I  detest  it,"  said  she,  impa- 
tiently; "but  Prince  Volkoffsky  can,  I  am  sure,  oblige 
you."     And  she  turned  away  her  head,  in  ill  humor. 

"  It  is  here  somewhere.  Farbleu,  I  thought  I  marked  the 
place,"  muttered  the  Duke,  as  he  handed  the  paper  to  the 
Russian.     "Isn't  that  it?" 

"This  is  all  about  theatres,  —  Madame  Pasta  and  the 
Haymarket." 

"  Ah !  well,  it  is  lower  down ;  here,  perhaps." 

"  Court  news.     The  Grand  Duke  of  Saxe- Weimar  —  '* 

"No,  no;  not  that." 

"  Oh,  here  it  is.  '  Great  Scandal  in  High  Life.  —  A  very 
singular  correspondence  has  just  passed,  and  will  soon,  we 
believe,  be  made  public,  between  the  Heralds'  College  and 
Lord  Glencore.' "  Here  the  reader  stopped,  and  lowered 
his  voice  at  the  next  word. 


148        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 


(( 


Read  on,  Prince.  C'est  mon  mari,"  said  she,  coldly, 
while  a  very  slight  movement  of  her  upper  lip  betrayed  what 
might  mean  scorn  or  sorrow,  or  even  both. 

The  Prince,  however,  had  now  run  his  eyes  over  the  para- 
graph, and  crushing  the  newspaper  in  his  hand,  hurried 
away  from  the  spot.  The  Duke  as  quickly  followed,  and 
soon  overtook  him." 

''Who  gave  you  this  paper,  Duke?"  cried  the  Russian, 
angrily. 

' '  It  was  Lord  Selby.  He  was  reading  it  aloud  to  a 
friend." 

"  Then  he  is  an  infame!  and  I  '11  tell  him  so,"  cried  the 
other,  passionately.  "  Which  is  he?  the  one  with  the  light 
moustache,  or  the  shorter  one?"  And,  without  waiting  for 
reply,  the  Russian  dashed  between  the  carriages,  and  thrust- 
ing his  way  through  the  prancing  crowd  of  moving  horses, 
arrived  at  a  spot  where  two  young  men,  evidently  strangers 
to  the  scene,  were  standing,  calmly  surveying  the  bright 
panorama  before  them. 

''  The  Lord  Selby,"  said  the  Russian,  taking  off  his  hat 
and  saluting  one  of  them. 

"That's  his  Lordship,"  replied  the  one  he  addressed, 
pointing  to  his  friend. 

"I  am  the  Prince  Volkoffsky,  aide-de-camp  to  the 
Emperor,"  said  the  Russian ;  ' '  and  hearing  from  my  friend 
the  Duke  de  Brignolles  that  you  have  just  given  him  this 
newspaper,  that  he  might  obtain  the  translation  of  a  passage 
in  it  which  concerns  Lady  Glencore,  and  have  the  explana- 
tion read  out  at  her  own  carriage,  publicly,  before  all  the 
world,  I  desire  to  tell  you  that  your  Lordship  is  unworthy  of 
your  rank  ;  that  you  are  an  infame  !  and  if  you  do  not  resent 
this,  a  poUsson  /  " 

"  This  man  is  mad,  Selby,"  said  the  short  man,  with  the 
coolest  air  imaginable. 

"  Quite  sane  enough  to  give  your  friend  a  lesson  in  good 
manners ;  and  you  too,  sir,  if  you  have  any  fancy  for  it," 
said  the  Russian. 

"  I  'd  give  him  in  charge  to  the  police,  by  Jove !  if  there 
were  police  here,"  said  the  same  one  who  spoke  before; 
"  he  can't  be  a  gentleman." 


THE   CASCINE  AT  FLORENCE.  149 

*'  There 's  my  card,  sir,"  said  the  Russian  ;  ''  and  for  you 
too,  sir,"  said  he,  presenting  another  to  him  who  spoke. 

''  Where  are  you  to  be  heard  of  ?  "  said  the  short  man. 

"  At  the  Russian  legation,"  said  the  Prince,  haughtily,  and 
turned  away. 

''You're  wrong,  Baynton,  he  is  a  gentleman,"  said  Lord 
Selby,  as  he  pocketed  the  card,  ' '  though  certainly  he  is  not 
a  very  mild- tempered  specimen  of  his  order." 

''  You  did  n't  give  the  newspaper  as  he  said  —  " 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind.  I  was  reading  it  aloud  to  you 
when  the  royal  carriages  came  suddenly  past ;  and,  in  taking 
off  my  hat  to  salute,  I  never  noticed  that  the  old  Duke  had 
carried  off  the  paper.  I  know  he  can't  read  English,  and 
the'  chances  are,  he  has  asked  this  Scythian  gentleman  to 
interpret  for  him." 

''  So,  then,  the  affair  is  easily  settled,"  said  the  other, 
quietly. 

''  Of  course  it  is,"  was  the  answer ;  and  they  both  lounged 
about  among  the  carriages,  which  already  were  thinning, 
and,  after  a  while,  set  out  towards  the  city. 

They  had  but  just  reached  the  hotel,  when  a  stranger 
presented  himself  to  them  as  the  Count  de  Marny.  He  had 
come  as  the  friend  of  Prince  Volkoffsky,  who  had  fully 
explained  to  him  the  event  of  that  afternoon. 

"  Well,"  said  Baynton,  "  we  are  of  opinion  your  friend 
has  conducted  himself  exceedingly  ill,  and  we  are  here  to 
receive  his  excuses." 

"I  am  afraid,  messieurs,"  said  the  Frenchman,  bowing, 
*' that  it  will  exhaust  your  patience  if  you  continue  to  wait 
for  them.  Might  it  not  be  better  to  come  and  accept  what 
he  is  quite  prepared  to  offer  you,  —  satisfaction  ?  " 

"Be  it  so,"  said  Lord  Selby  :  "  he  '11  see  his  mistake  some 
time  or  other,  and  perhaps  regret  it.  Where  shall  it  be  ?  — 
and  when  ?  " 

"  At  the  Fossombroni  Villa,  about  two  miles  from  this. 
To-morrow  morning,  at  eight,  if  that  suit  you." 

"  Quite  well.  I  have  no  other  appointment.  Pistols,  of 
course  ?  " 

' '  You  have  the  choice,  otherwise  my  friend  would  have 
preferred  the  sword." 


150        THE  FOETUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"Take  him  at  his  word,  Selby,"  whispered  Baynton; 
**  you  are  equal  to  any  of  them  with  the  rapier." 

"  If  your  friend  desire  the  sword,  I  have  no  objection,  — 
I  mean  the  rapier." 

*'The  rapier  be  it,"  said  the  Frenchman;  and  with  a 
polite  assurance  of  the  infinite  honor  he  felt  in  forming  their 
acquaintance,  and  the  gratifying  certainty  that  they  were 
sure  to  possess  of  his  highest  consideration,  he  bowed, 
backed,  and  withdrew. 

''  Well-mannered  fellow,  the  Frenchman,"  said  Baynton, 
as  the  door  closed ;  and  the  other  nodded  assent,  and  rang 
the  bell  for  dinner. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE   VILLA   FOSSOMBRONI. 

The  grounds  of  the  Villa  Fossombroni  were,  at  the  time  we 
speak  of,  the  Chalk  Farm,  or  the  Fifteen  Acres  of  Tuscany. 
The  villa  itself,  long  since  deserted  by  the  illustrious  family 
whose  name  it  bore,  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  an  old  Pied- 
montese  noble,  ruined  by  a  long  life  of  excess  and  dissi- 
pation. He  had  served  with  gallantry  in  the  imperial  army  of 
France,  but  was  dismissed  the  service  for  a  play  transaction 
in  which  his  conduct  was  deeply  disgraceful ;  and  the  Colonel 
Count  Tasseroni,  of  the  8th  Hussars  of  the  Guards,  was 
declared  unworthy  to  wear  the  uniform  of  a  Frenchman. 

For  a  number  of  years  he  had  lived  so  estranged  from  the 
world  that  many  believed  he  had  died ;  but  at  last  it  was 
known  that  he  had  gone  to  reside  in  a  half -ruined  villa  near 
Florence,  which  soon  became  the  resort  of  a  certain  class  of 
gamblers  whose  habits  would  have  speedily  attracted  notice 
if  practised  within  the  city.  The  quarrels  and  alterca- 
tions, so  inseparable  from  high  play,  were  usually  settled 
on  the  spot  in  which  they  occurred,  until  at  last  the  villa 
became  famous  for  these  meetings,  and  the  name  of  Fos- 
sombroni, in  a  discussion,  was  the  watchword  for  a  duel. 

It  was  of  a  splendid  spring  morning  that  the  two  English- 
men arrived  at  this  spot,  which,  even  on  the  unpleasant 
errand  that  they  had  come,  struck  them  with  surprise  and 
admiration.  The  villa  itself  was  one  of  those  vast  struc- 
tures which  the  country  about  Florence  abounds  in.  Gloomy, 
stern,  and  jail-like  without,  while  within,  splendid  apart- 
ments opened  into  each  other  in  what  seems  an  endless  suc- 
cession. Frescoed  walls  and  gorgeously  ornamented  ceilings, 
gilded   mouldings   and   rich  tracery,    were  on   every  side; 


152        THE  EORTUNES  OF  GLENCOKE. 

and  these,  too,  in  chambers  where  the  immense  proportions 
and  the  vast  space  recalled  the  idea  of  a  royal  residence. 
Passing  in  by  a  dilapidated  ' '  grille  "  which  once  had  been 
richly  gilded,  they  entered  by  a  flight  of  steps  a  great  hall 
which  ran  the  entire  length  of  the  building.  Though  lighted 
by  a  double  range  of  windows,  neglect  and  dirt  had  so 
dimmed  the  panes  that  the  place  was  almost  in  deep 
shadow.  Still,  they  could  perceive  that  the  vaulted  roof  was 
a  mass  of  stuccoed  tracery,  and  that  the  colossal  divisions 
of  the  wall  were  of  brilliant  Sienna  marble.  At  one  end  of 
this  great  gallery  was  a  small  chapel,  now  partly  despoiled 
of  its  religious  decorations,  which  were  most  irreverently  re- 
placed by  a  variety  of  swords  and  sabres  of  every  possible 
size  and  shape,  and  several  pairs  of  pistols,  arranged  with 
an  evident  eye  to  picturesque  grouping. 

"What  are  all  these  inscriptions  here  on  the  walls, 
Baynton  ?  "  cried  Selby,  as  he  stood  endeavoring  to  decipher 
the  lines  on  a  little  marble  slab,  a  number  of  which  were 
dotted  over  the  chapel. 

"Strange  enough  this,  by  Jove!"  muttered  the  other, 
reading  to  himself,  half  aloud,  "  '  Francesco  Ricordi,  ucciso 
da  Gieronimo  Gazzi,  29  Settembre,  1818.'  " 

"  What  does  that  mean?  "  asked  Selby. 

"  It  is  to  commemorate  some  fellow  who  was  killed  here 
in  '18." 

"  Are  they  all  in  the  same  vein?  "  asked  the  other. 

"It  would  seem  so.  Here's  one:  '  Gravamente  ferito,* 
—  badly  wounded ;  with  a  postscript  that  he  died  the  same 
night." 

"What's  this  large  one  here,  in  black  marble?"  inquired 
Selby. 

' '  To  the  memory  of  Carlo  Luigi  Guiccidrini,  '  detto  il 
Carnefice,'  called  '  the  slaughterer : '  cut  down  to  the  fore- 
head by  Pietro  Baldasseroni,  on  the  night  of  July  8th, 
1819." 

"  I  confess  any  other  kind  of  literature  would  amuse  me 
as  well,"  said  Selby,  turning  back  again  into  the  large 
hall.  Baynton  had  scarcely  joined  him  when  they  saw 
advancing  towards  them  through  the  gloom  a  short,  thickset 
man,  dressed  in  a  much-worn  dressing-gown  and  slippers. 


THE  VILLA   FOSSOMBRONL  153 

He  removed  his  skull-cap  as  he  approached,  and  said,  ''  The 
Count  Tasseroni,  at  your  orders." 

"  We  have  come  here  by  appointment,"  said  Baynton. 

"  Yes,  yes.  I  know  it  all.  Volkoffsky  sent  me  word. 
He  was  here  on  Saturday.  He  gave  that  French  colonel 
a  sharp  lesson.  Ran  the  sword  clean  through  the  chest. 
To  be  sure,  he  was  wounded  too,  but  only  through  the  arm; 
but  '  La  Marque'  has  got  his  passport." 

"You'll  have  him  up  there  soon,  then,"  said  Baynton, 
pointing  towards  the  chapel. 

"I  think  not.  We  have  not  done  it  latterly,"  said  the 
Count,  musingly.  "The  authorities  don't  seem  to  like  it; 
and,  of  course,  we  respect  the  authorities ! " 

"That's  quite  evident,"  said  Baynton,  who  turned 
to  translate  the  observation  to  his  friend. 

Selby  whispered  a  word  in  his  ear. 

"  What  does  the  signore  say  ?  "  inquired  the  Count. 

"  My  friend  thinks  that  they  are  behind  the  time." 

"  Pe?'  Baccho!  Let  him  be  easy  as  to  that.  I  have 
known  some  to  think  that  the  Russian  came  too  soon.  I 
never  heard  of  one  who  wished  him  earlier!  There  they 
are  now  :  they  always  come  by  the  garden."  And  so  saying, 
he  hastened  off  to  receive  them. 

"How  is  this  fellow  to  handle  a  sword,  if  his  right  arm 
be  w^ounded?"  said  Selby. 

"Don't  you  know  that  these  Russians  use  the  left  hand 
indifferently  with  the  right,  in  all  exercises?  It  may  be 
awkward  tor  you;  but,  depend  upon  it,  he'll  not  be  incon- 
venienced in  the  least." 

As  he  spoke,  the  others  entered  the  other  end  of  the 
hall.  The  Prince  no  sooner  saw  the  Englishmen  than  he 
advanced  towards  them  with  his  hat  off.  "My  lord,"  said 
he,  rapidly,  "I  have  come  to  make  you  an  apology,  and 
one  which  I  trust  you  will  accept  in  all  the  frankness  that 
I  offer  it.  I  have  learned  from  your  friend  the  Due  de 
Brignolles  how  the  incident  of  yesterday  occurred.  I  see 
that  the  only  fault  committed  was  my  own.  Will  you 
pardon,  then,  a  momentary  word  of  ill-temper,  occasioned 
by  what  I  wrongfully  believed  to  be  a  great  injury?" 

"Of  course,  I  knew  it  was  all  a  mistake  on  your  part. 

*^     OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

CF 


154         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE, 

I  told  Colonel  Baynton,  here,  you  'd  see  so  yourself,  ~  when 
it  is  too  late,  perhaps." 

''I  thank  you  sincerely,"  said  the  Russian,  bowing; 
"  your  readiness  to  accord  me  this  satisfaction  makes  your 
forgiveness  more  precious  to  me.  And  now,  as  another 
favor,  will  you  permit  me  to  ask  you  one  question?" 

"Yes,  certainly." 

''Why,  when  you  could  have  so  easily  explained  this 
misconception  on  my  part,  did  you  not  take  the  trouble  of 
doing  so?" 

Selby  looked  confused,  blushed,  looked  awkwardly  from 
side  to  side,  and  th^,  with  a  glance  towards  his  friend, 
seemed  to  say,  "Will  you  try  and  answer  him?" 

"  I  think  you  have  hit  it  yourself,  Prince,"  said  Baynton. 
"  It  was  the  trouble,  the  bore  of  an  explanation,  deterred 
him.  He  hates  writing,  and  he  thought  there  would  be  a 
shower  of  notes  to  be  replied  to,  meetings,  discussions,  and 
what  not ;  and  so  he  said,  '  Let  him  have  his  shot,  and  have 
done  with  it.' " 

The  Russian  looked  from  one  to  the  other  as  he  listened, 
and  seemed  really  as  if  not  quite  sure  whether  this  speech 
was  uttered  in  seriousness  or  sarcasm.  The  calm,  phleg- 
matic faces  of  the  Englishmen,  —  the  almost  apathetic 
expression  they  wore,  —  soon  convinced  him  that  the  words 
were  truthfully  spoken;  and  he  stood  actually  confounded 
with  amazement  before  them. 

Lord  Selby  and  his  friend  freely  accepted  the  polite  invi- 
tation of  the  Prince  to  breakfast,  and  they  all  adjourned  to 
a  small  but  splendidly  decorated  room,  where  everything  was 
already  awaiting  them.  There  are  few  incidents  in  life 
which  so  much  predispose  to  rapid  intimacy  as  the  case  of 
an  averted  duel.  The  revulsion  from  animosity  is  almost 
certain  to  lead  to,  if  not  actual  friendship,  what  may  easily 
become  so.  In  the  present  instance,  the  very  diversities  of 
national  character  gave  a  zest  and  enjoyment  to  the  meeting ; 
and  while  the  Englishmen  were  charmed  by  the  fascination 
of  manners  and  conversational  readiness  of  their  hosts,  the 
Russians  were  equally  struck  with  a  cool  imperturbability 
and  impassiveness,  of  which  they  had  never  seen  the 
equal. 


THE  VILLA  FOSSOMBRONI.  155 

By  degrees  the  Russian  led  the  conversation  to  the  ques- 
tion by  which  their  misunderstanding  originated.  ''  You 
know  my  Lord  Glencore,  perhaps?"  said  he. 

''Never  saw,  scarcely  ever  heard  of  him,"  said  Selby, 
in  his  dry,  laconic  tone. 

"  Is  he  mad,  or  a  fool?  "  asked  the  Prince,  half  angrily. 

"  I  served  in  a  regiment  once  where  he  commanded  a 
troop,"  said  Baynton;  ''and  they  always  said  he  was  a 
good  sort  of  fellow." 

"You  read  that  paragraph  this  morning,  I  conclude?" 
said  the  Russian.  "  You  saw  how  he  dares  to  stigmatize 
the  honor  of  his  wife,  —  to  degrade  her  to  the  rank  of  a 
mistress,  —  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  bastardize  the  son 
who  ought  to  inherit  his  rank  and  title  ?  " 

"  I  read  it,"  said  Selby,  dryly ;  "  and  I  had  a  letter  from 
my  lawyer  about  it  this  morning." 

"Indeed!"  exclaimed  he,  anxious  to  hear  more,  and  yet 
too  delicate  to  venture  on  a  question. 

"Yes;  he  writes  to  me  for  some  title-deeds  or  other.  I 
did  n't  pay  much  attention,  exactly,  to  what  he  says.  Glen- 
core's  man  of  business  had  addressed  a  letter  to  him." 

The  Russian  bowed,  and  waited  for  him  to  resume ;  but, 
apparently,  he  had  rather  fatigued  himself  by  such  unusual 
loquacity,  and  so  he  lay  back  in  his  chair,  and  puffed  his 
cigar  in  indolent  enjoyment. 

"A  goodish  sort  of  thing  for  you  it  ought  to  be,"  said 
Baynton,  between  the  puffs  of  his  tobacco  smoke,  and  with 
a  look  towards  Selby. 

"  I  suspect  it  may,"  said  the  other,  without  the  slightest 
change  of  tone  or  demeanor. 

"  Where  is  it,  —  somewhere  in  the  south?  " 

"  Mostly,  Devon.  There's  something  in  Wales  too,  if  I 
remember  aright." 

"Nothing  Irish?" 

"No,  thank  Heaven, — nothing  Irish;"  and  his  grim 
Lordship  made  the  nearest  advance  to  a  smile  of  which  his 
unplastic  features  seemed  capable. 

"  Do  I  understand  you  aright,  my  Lord,"  said  the  Prince, 
"  that  you  receive  an  accession  of  fortune  by  this  event?  " 

"  I  shall,  if  I  survive  Glencore,"  was  the  brief  reply. 


156         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

''  You  are  related,  then?  " 

"  Some  cousinship,  —  I  forget  how  it  is.  Do  you  remem- 
ber, Baynton?" 

"I'm  not  quite  certain.  I  think  it  was  a  Coventry 
married  one  of  Jack  Conway's  sisters,  and  she  afterwards 
became  the  wife  of  Sir  something  Massy.  Isn't  that 
it?" 

"  Yes,  that 's  it,"  muttered  the  other,  in  the  tone  of  a  man 
who  was  tired  of  a  knotty  problem. 

''  And,  according  to  your  laws,  this  Lord  Glencore  may 
marry  again?"  cried  the  Russian. 

"I  should  think  so,  if  he  has  no  wife  living,"  said  Selby ; 
"  but  I  trust,  for  my  sake,  he  '11  not." 

"  And  what  if  he  should,  and  should  be  discovered  the 
wedded  husband  of  another?" 

*'That  would  be  bigamy,"  said  Selby.  "Would  they 
hang  him,  Baynton?" 

"  I  think  not,  — scarcely,"  rejoined  the  Colonel. 

The  Prince  tried  in  various  ways  to  obtain  some  insight 
into  Lord  Glencore's  habits,  his  tastes  and  mode  of  life,  but 
all  in  vain.  They  knew,  indeed,  very  little,  but  even  that 
little  they  were  too  indolent  to  repeat.  Lord  Selby's  mem- 
ory was  often  at  fault,  too,  and  Baynton's  had  ill  supplied 
the  deficiency.  Again  and  again  did  the  Russian  mutter 
curses  to  himself  over  the  apathy  of  these  stony  islanders. 
At  moments  he  fancied  that  they  suspected  his  eagerness, 
and  had  assumed  their  most  guarded  caution  against  him ; 
but  he  soon  perceived  that  this  manner  was  natural  to  them, 
not  prompted  in  the  slightest  degree  by  any  distrust 
whatever. 

"After  all,"  thought  the  Russian,  "how  can  I  hope  to 
stimulate  a  man  who  is  not  excited  by  his  own  increase  of 
fortune?  Talk  of  Turkish  fatalism,  these  fellows  would 
shame  the  Moslem." 

"Do  you  mean  to  prolong  your  stay  at  Florence,  my 
Lord?  "  asked  the  Prince,  as  they  arose  from  the  table. 

"  I  scarcely  know.     What  do  you  say,  Baynton?" 

"  A  week  or  so,  I  fancy,"  muttered  the  other. 

"  And  then  on  to  Rome,  perhaps?  " 

The  two  Englishmen  looked  at  each  other  with  an  air  of  as 


THE   VILLA  FOSSOMBRONL  157 

much  confusion  as  if  subjected  to  a  searching  examination 
in  science. 

"Well,  I  should  n't  wonder,"  said  Selby,  at  last,  with  a 
sigh. 

"Yes,  it  may  come  to  that,"  said  Baynton,  like  a  man 
who  had  just  overcome  a  difficulty. 

"  You  '11  be  in  time  for  the  Holy  Week  and  all  the  cere- 
monies," said  the  Prince. 

"Mind  that,  Baynton,"  said  his  Lordship,  who  wasn't 
going  to  carry  what  he  felt  to  be  another  man's  load ;  and 
Baynton  nodded  acquiescence. 

"  And  after  that  comes  the  season  for  Naples,  — you  have 
a  month  or  six  weeks,  perhaps,  of  such  weather  as  nothing 
in  all  Europe  can  vie  with." 

"  You  hear,  Baynton !  "  said  Selby. 

"I've  booked  it,"  muttered  the  other;  and  so  they  took 
leave  of  their  entertainer,  and  set  out  towards  Florence. 
Neither  you  nor  I,  dear  reader,  will  gain  anything  by  keep- 
ing them  company,  for  they  say  scarcely  a  word  by  the  way. 
They  stop  at  intervals,  and  cast  their  eyes  over  the  glorious 
landscape  at  their  feet.  Their  glances  are  thrown  over  the 
fairest  scene  of  the  fairest  of  all  lands ;  and  whether  they 
turn  towards  the  snow-capt  Apennines,  by  Vall'ombrosa,  or 
trace  the  sunny  vineyards  along  the  Val'  d'  Arno,  they  behold 
a  picture  such  as  no  canvas  ever  imitated ;  still,  they  are 
mute  and  uncommunicative.  Whatever  of  pleasure  their 
thoughts  suggest,  each  keeps  for  himself.  Objects  of  won- 
der, strange  sights  and  new,  may  present  themselves,  but 
they  are  not  to  be  startled  out  of  national  dignity  by  so 
ignoble  a  sentiment  as  surprise.  And  so  they  jog  onward,  — 
doubtless  richer  in  reflection  than  eloquent  in  communion; 
and  so  we  leave  them. 

Let  us  not  be  deemed  unjust  or  ungenerous  if  we  assert 
that  we  have  met  many  such  as  these.  They  are  not  in- 
dividuals, —  they  are  a  class ;  and,  strange  enough  too,  a 
class  which  almost  invariably  pertains  to  a  high  and  distin- 
guished rank  in  society.  It  would  be  presumptuous  to 
ascribe  such  demeanor  to  insensibility.  There  is  enough  in 
their  general  conduct  to  disprove  the  assumption.  As  little 
is  it  affectation;    it  is  simply  an  acquired  habit  of   stoical 


158  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

indifference,  supposed  to  be  —  why,  Heaven  knows !  —  the 
essential  ingredient  of  the  best  breeding.  If  the  practice 
extinguish  all  emotion,  and  obliterate  all  trace  of  feeling  from 
the  heart,  we  deplore  the  system.  If  it  only  gloss  over  the 
working  of  human  sympathy,  we  pity  the  men.  At  all 
events,  they  are  very  uninteresting  company,  with  whom 
longer  dalliance  would  only  be  wearisome. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

SOME    TRAITS    OF    LIFE. 

It  was  the  night  Lady  Glencore  received ;  and,  as  usual, 
the  street  was  crowded  with  equipages,  which  somehow 
seemed  to  have  got  into  inextricable  confusion,  ^  some  en- 
deavoring to  turn  back,  while  others  pressed  forward,  —  the 
court  of  the  palace  being  closely  packed  with  carriages 
which  the  thronged  street  held  in  fast  blockade.  As  the 
apartments  which  faced  the  street  were  not  ever  used  for 
these  receptions,  the  dark  unlighted  windows  suggested  no 
remark;  but  they  who  had  entered  the  courtyard  were 
struck  by  the  gloomy  aspect  of  the  vast  building :  not  only 
that  the  entrance  and  the  stairs  were  in  darkness,  but  the 
whole  suite  of  rooms,  usually  brilliant  as  the  day,  were  now 
in  deep  gloom.  From  every  carriage  window  heads  were 
protruded,  wondering  at  this  strange  spectacle;  and  eager 
inquiries  passed  on  every  side  for  an  explanation.  The 
explanation  of  "  sudden  illness  "  was  rapidly  disseminated, 
but  as  rapidly  contradicted,  and  the  reply  given  by  the 
porter  to  all  demands  quickly  repeated  from  mouth  to  mouth, 
''  Her  Ladyship  will  not  receive.'* 

"  Can  no  one  explain  this  mystery?"  cried  the  old  Prin- 
cess Borinsky,  as,  heavy  with  fat  and  diamonds,  she  hung 
out  of  her  carriage  window.  "  Oh,  there 's  Major  Scaresby ; 
he  is  certain  to  know,  if  it  be  anything  malicious." 

Scaresby  was,  however,  too  busy  in  recounting  his  news 
to  others  to  perceive  the  signals  the  old  Princess  held  out ; 
and  it  was  only  as  her  chasseur,  six  feet  three  of  green  and 
gold,  bent  down  to  give  her  Highness's  message,  that  the 
Major  hurried  off,  in  all  the  importance  of  a  momentary 
scandal,  to  the  side  of  her  carriage. 


160        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"Here  I  am,  all  impatience.  What  is  it,  Scaresby? 
Tell  me  quickly,"  cried  she. 

''A  smash,  my  dear  Princess,  —  nothing  more  or  less," 
said  he,  in  a  voice  which  nature  seemed  to  have  invented 
to  utter  impertinences,  so  harsh  and  grating,  and  yet  so 
painfully  distinct  in  all  its  accents,  —  ''as  complete  a  smash 
as  ever  I  heard  of." 

' '  You  can't  mean  that  her  fortune  is  in  peril  ?  " 

"I  suppose  that  must  suffer  also.  It  is  her  character  — 
her  station  as  one  of  us  —  that's  shipwrecked  here." 

"Go  on,  go  on,"  cried  she,  impatiently;  "I  wish  to 
hear  it  all." 

"  All  is  very  briefly  related,  then,"  said  he.  "  The  charm- 
ing Countess,  you  remember,  ran  away  with  a  countryman 
of  mine,  young  Glencore,  of  the  8th  Hussars ;  I  used  to 
know  his  father  intimately." 

"  Never  mind  his  father." 

"  That 's  exactly  what  Glencore  did.  He  came  over  here 
and  fell  in  love  with  the  girl,  and  they  ran  off  together ;  but 
they  forgot  to  get  married,  Princess.  Ha  —  ha  —  ha  I" 
And  he  laughed  with  a  cackle  a  demon  could  not  have 
rivalled. 

"I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,  — I'll,  never  believe  it," 
cried  the  Princess. 

"That's  exactly  what  I  was  recommending  to  the  Mar- 
quesa  Guesteni.  I  said,  you  need  n't  believe  it.  Why,  how 
do  we  go  anywhere,  nowadays,  except  by  '  not  believing  * 
the  evil  stories  that  are  told  of  our  entertainers." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  but  I  repeat  that  this  is  an  infamous  calumny. 
She,  a  Countess,  of  a  family  second  to  none  in  all  Italy; 
her  father  a  Grand  d'Espagne.     I  '11  go  to  her  this  moment." 

"She'll  not  see  you.  She  has  just  refused  to  see  La 
Genori,"  said  the  Major,  tartly.  "Though,  if  a  cracked 
reputation  might  have  afforded  any  sympathy,  she  might 
have  admitted  her," 

"  What  is  to  be  done?"  exclaimed  the  Princess,  sorrow- 
fully. 

"Just  what  you  suggested  a  few  moments  ago, — don't 
believe  it.  Hang  me,  but  good  houses  and  good  cooks  are 
growing  too  scarce  to  make  one  credulous  of  the  ills  that 
can  be  said  of  their  owners." 


SOME  TRAITS  OF  LIFE.  161 

"I  wish  I  knew  what  course  to  take,"  muttered  the 
Princess. 

"I'll  tell  you,  then.  Get  half  a  dozen  of  your  own  set 
together  to-morrow  morning,  vote  the  whole  story  an  atro- 
cious falsehood,  and  go  in  a  body  and  tell  the  Countess 
your  mind.  You  know  as  well  as  I,  Princess,  that  social 
credit  is  as  great  a  bubble  as  commercial;  we  should  all 
of  us  be  bankrupts  if  our  books  were  seen.  Ay,  by  Jove  ! 
and  the  similitude  goes  farther  too ;  for  when  one  old  estab- 
lished house  breaks,  there  is  generally  a  crash  in  the  whole 
community  around  it." 

While  they  thus  talked,  a  knot  had  gathered  around  the 
carriage,  all  eager  to  hear  what  opinion  the  Princess  had 
formed  on  the  catastrophe. 

Various  were  the  sentiments  expressed  by  the  different 
speakers,  —  some  sorrowfully  deploring  the  disaster ;  others 
more  eagerly  inveighing  against  the  infamy  of  the  man  who 
had  proclaimed  it.  Many  declared  that  they  had  come  to 
the  determination  to  discredit  the  story.  Not  one,  however, 
sincerely  professed  that  he  disbelieved  it. 

Can  it  be,  as  the  French  moralist  asserts,  that  we  have 
a  latent  sense  of  satisfaction  in  the  misfortunes  of  even  our 
best  friends ;  or  is  it,  as  we  rather  suspect,  that  true  friend- 
ship is  a  rarer  thing  than  is  commonly  believed,  and  has 
little  to  do  with  those  conventional  intimacies  which  so  often 
bear  its  name? 

Assuredly,  of  all  this  well-bred,  well-dressed,  and  well- 
born company,  now  thronging  the  courtyard  of  the  palace 
and  the  street  in  front  of  it,  the  tone  was  as  much  sarcasm 
as  sorrow,  and  many  a  witty  epigram  and  smart  speech 
were  launched  over  a  disaster  which  might  have  been 
spared  such  levity.  At  length  the  space  slowly  began  to 
thin.  Slowly  carriage  after  carriage  drove  off,  —  the  hea- 
viest grief  of  their  occupants  often  being  over  a  lost 
soiree^  an  unprofited  occasion  to  display  toilette  and  jewels ; 
while  a  few,  more  reflective,  discussed  what  course  was  to 
be  followed  in  future,  and  what  recognition  extended  to 
the  victim. 

The  next  day  Florence  sat  in  committee  over  the  lost 
Countess.     Witnesses  were  heard  and  evidence  taken  as  to 

11 


162        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

her  case.  They  all  agreed  it  was  a  great  hardship,  —  a 
terrible  calamity;  but  still,  if  true,  what  could  be  done? 

Never  was  there  a  society  less  ungenerously  prudish,  sLnd 
yet  there  were  cases  —  this,  one  of  them  —  which  trans- 
gressed all  conventional  rule.  Like  a  crime  which  no 
statute  had  ever  contemplated,  it  stood  out  self-accused  and 
self -condemned.  A  few  might,  perhaps,  have  been  merciful, 
but  they  were  overborne  by  numbers.  Lady  Glencore's 
beauty  and  her  vast  fortune  were  now  counts  in  the  indict- 
ment against  her,  and  many  a  jealous  rival  was  not  sorry  at 
this  hour  of  humiliation.  The  despotism  of  beauty  is  not  a 
very  mild  sway,  after  all;  and  perhaps  the  Countess  had 
exercised  her  rule  right  royally.  At  all  events,  it  was  the 
young  and  the  good-looking  who  voted  her  exclusion,  and 
only  those  who  could  not  enter  into  competition  with  her 
charms  who  took  the  charitable  side.  They  discussed  and 
debated  the  question  all  day ;  but  while  they  hesitated  over 
the  reprieve,  the  prisoner  was  beyond  the  law.  The  gate  of 
the  palace,  locked  and  barred  all  day,  refused  entrance  to 
every  one ;  at  night,  it  opened  to  admit  the  exit  of  a  travel- 
ling-carriage. The  next  morning  large  bills  of  sale,  posted 
over  the  walls,  declared  that  all  the  furniture  and  decorations 
were  to  be  sold. 

The  Countess  had  left  Florence,  none  knew  whither. 

''I  must  really  have  those  large  Sevres  jars,"  said  one. 

**And  I,  the  small  park  phaeton,",  cried  another. 

"I  hope  she  has  not  taken  Horace  with  her;  he  was  the 
best  cook  in  Italy.  Splendid  hock  she  had,  —  I  wonder  is 
there  much  of  it  left  ?  " 

''  I  wish  we  were  certain  of  another  bad  reputation  to 
replace  her,"  grunted  out  Scaresby;  "they  are  the  only 
kind  of  people  who  give  good  dinners,  and  never  ask  for 
returns." 

And  thus  these  dear  friends  —  guests  of  a  hundred 
brilliant  fetes  —  discussed  the  fall  of  her  they  once  had 
worshipped. 

It  may  seem  small-minded  and  narrow  to  stigmatize  such 
conduct  as  this.  Some  may  say  that  for  the  ordinary  cour- 
tesies of  society  no  pledges  of  friendship  are  required,  no 
real  gratitude    incurred.     Be   it   so.     Still,   the   revulsion, 


SOME  TRAITS  OF  LIFE.  163 

from  habits  of  deference  and  respect,  to  disparagement,  and 
even  sarcasm,  is  a  sorry  evidence  of  human  kindness ;  and 
the  threshold,  over  which  for  years  we  had  only  passed  as 
guests,  might  well  suggest  sadder  thoughts  as  we  tread  it  to 
behold  desolation. 

The  fair  Countess  had  been  the  celebrity  of  that  city  for 
many  a  day.  The  stranger  of  distinction  sought  her,  as 
much  as  a  matter  of  course  as  he  sought  presentation  to  the 
sovereign.  Her  salons  had  the  double  eminence  of  brilliancy 
in  rank  and  brilliancy  in  wit ;  her  entertainments  were  cited 
as  models  of  elegance  and  refinement;  and  now  she  was 
gone!  The  extreme  of  regret  that  followed  her  was  the 
sorrow  of  those  who  were  to  dine  there  no  more ;  the  grief  of 
him  who  thought  he  should  never  have  a  house  like  it. 

The  respectable  vagabonds  of  society  are  a  large  family, 
much  larger  than  is  usually  supposed.  They  are  often  well 
born,  almost  always  well  mannered,  invariably  well  dressed. 
They  do  not,  at  first  blush,  appear  to  discharge  any  very 
great  or  necessary  function  in  life;  but  we  must  by  no 
means,  from  that,  infer  their  inutility.  Naturalists  tell  us 
that  several  varieties  of  insect  existence  we  rashly  set  down 
as  mere  annoyances,  have  their  peculiar  spheres  of  useful- 
ness and  good ;  and,  doubtless,  these  same  loungers  contri- 
bute in  some  mysterious  manner  to  the  welfare  of  that  state 
which  they  only  seem  to  burden.  We  are  told  that  but  for 
flies,  for  instance,  we  should  be  infested  with  myriads  of 
winged  tormentors,  insinuating  themselves  into  our  meat 
and  drink,  and  rendering  life  miserable.  Is  there  not  some- 
thing very  similar  performed  by  the  respectable  class  I 
allude  to?  Are  they  not  invariably  devouring  and  destroy- 
ing some  vermin  a  little  smaller  than  themselves,  and  making 
thus  a  healthier  atmosphere  for  their  betters?  If  good 
society  only  knew  the  debt  it  owes  to  these  defenders  of  its 
privileges,  a  "Vagabonds'  Home  and  Aged  Asylum"  would 
speedily  figure  amongst  our  national  charities. 

We  have  been  led  to  these  thoughts  by  observing  how 
distinctly  different  was  Major  Scaresby's  tone  in  talking  of 
the  Countess  when  he  addressed  his  betters  or  spoke  in  his 
own  class.  To  the  former  he  gave  vent  to  all  his  sarcasm 
and  bitterness ;  they  liked  it  just  because  they  would  n't  con- 


164        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

descend  to  it  themselves.  To  his  own  he  put  on  the  bullying 
air  of  one  who  said,  "How  should  you  possibly  know  what 
vices  such  great  people  have,  any  more  than  you  know  what 
they  have  for  dinner?  I  live  amongst  them,  —  /  understand 
them,  —  /  am  aware  that  what  would  be  very  shocking  in 
you  is  quite  permissible  to  them.  They  know  how  to  be 
wicked;  you  only  know  how  to  be  gross."  And  thus 
Scaresby  talked,  and  sneered,  and  scoffed,  making  such  a 
hash  of  good  and  evil,  such  a  Maelstrom  of  right  and  wrong, 
that  it  were  a  subtle  moralist  who  could  have  extracted  one 
solitary  scrap  of  uncontaminated  meaning  from  all  his 
muddy  lucubrations. 

He,  however,  effected  this  much :  he  kept  the  memory  of 
her  who  had  gone,  alive  by  daily  calumnies.  He  embalmed 
her  in  poisons,  each  morning  appearing  with  some  new  trait 
of  her  extravagance,  till  the  world,  grown  sick  of  himself 
and  his  theme,  vowed  they  would  hear  no  more  of  either; 
and  so  she  was  forgotten. 

-A^y?  good  reader,  utterly  forgotten !  The  gay  world,  for 
so  it  likes  to  be  called,  has  no  greater  element  of  enjoyment 
amongst  all  its  high  gifts  than  its  precious  power  of  for- 
getting. It  forgets  not  only  all  it  owes  to  others,  —  grati- 
tude, honor,  and  esteem,  —  but  even  the  closer  obligations 
it  has  contracted  with  itself.  The  Palazzo  della  Torre  was 
for  a  fortnight  the  resort  of  the  curious  and  the  idle.  At 
the  sale  crowds  appeared  to  secure  some  object  of  especial 
value  to  each ;  and  then  the  gates  were  locked,  the  shutters 
closed,  and  a  large,  ill-written  notice  on  the  door  announced 
that  any  letters  for  the  proprietor  were  to  be  addressed  to 
"Pietro  Arretini,  Via  del  Sole." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

AN   UPTONIAN   DESPATCH. 

British  Legation,  Naples. 

My  dear  Harcourt,  —  It  would  seem  that  a  letter  of  mine  to 
you  must  have  miscarried,  —  a  not  unfrequent  occurrence  when 
entrusted  to  our  Foreign  Office  for  transmission.  Should  it  ever 
reach  you,  you  will  perceive  how  unjustly  you  have  charged  me 
with  neglecting  your  wishes.  I  have  ordered  the  Sicilian  wine  for 
your  friend ;  I  have  obtained  the  Royal  leave  for  you  to  shoot  in 
Calabria  ;  and  I  assure  you  it  is  rather  g,  rare  incident  in  my  life 
to  have  forgotten  nothing  required  of  me !  Perhaps  you,  who 
know  me  well,  will  do  me  this  justice,  and  be  the  more  grateful 
for  my  present  promptitude. 

It  was  quite  a  mistake  sending  me  here ;  for  anything  there  is 
to  be  done,  Spencer  or  Lonsdale  would  perfectly  suffice.  /  ought 
to  have  gone  to  Vienna,  —  and  so  they  know  at  home ;  but  it 's 
the  old  game  played  over  again.  Important  questions  !  why,  my 
dear  friend,  there  is  not  a  matter  between  this  country  and  our 
own  that  rises  above  the  capacity  of  a  Colonel  of  Dragoons. 
Meanwhile  really  great  events  are  preparing  in  the  East  of  Europe, 
—  not  that  I  am  going  to  inflict  them  upon  you,  nor  ask  you  to 
listen  to  speculations  which  even  those  in  authority  turn  a  deaf 
ear  to. 

It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  think  of  my  h^ealth.  I  am  still  a  suf- 
ferer ;  the  old  pains  rather  aggravated  than  relieved  by  this 
climate.  You  are  aware  that,  though  warm,  the  weather  here  has 
some  exciting  property,  some  excess  or  other  of  a  peculiar  gas  in 
the  atmosphere,  prejudicial  to  certain  temperaments.  I  feel  it 
greatly ;  and  though  the  season  is  midsummer,  I  am  obliged  to 
dress  entirely  in  a  light  costume  of  buckskin,  and  take  Marsalla 
baths,  which  refresh  me,  at  least  for  the  while.  I  have  also  taken 
to  smoke  the  leaves  of  the  nux  vomica,  steeped  in  arrack,  and 
think  it  agrees  with  me.  The  Kin^  has  most  kindly  placed  a 
little  villa  at  Ischia  at  my  disposal ;  but  I  do  not  mean  to  avail 


166        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

myself  of  the  politeness.  The  Duke  of  San  Giustino  has  also 
offered  me  his  palace  at  Baia  ;  but  I  don't  fancy  leaving  this  just 
now,  where  there  is  a  doctor,  a  certain  Luigi  Buffeloni,  who  really 
seems  to  have  hit  off  my  case.  He  calls  it  arterial  arthriticis,  —  a 
kind  of  inflammatory  action  of  one  coat  of  the  arterial  system ; 
his  notion  is  highly  ingenious,  and  wonderfully  borne  out  by  the 
symptoms.  I  wish  you  would  ask  Brodie,  or  any  of  our  best  men, 
whether  they  have  met  with  this  affection ;  what  class  it  affects, 
and  what  course  it  usually  takes?  My  Italian  doctor  implies 
that  it  is  the  passing  malady  of  men  highly  excitable,  and  largely 
endowed  with  mental  gifts.  He  may,  or  may  not,  be  correct  in 
this.  It  is  only  nature  makes  the  blunder  of  giving  the  sharpest 
swords  the  weakest  scabbards.  What  a  pity  the  weapon  cannot 
be  worn  naked ! 

You  ask  me  if  I  like  this  place.  I  do,  perhaps,  as  well  as  I 
should  like  anywhere.  There  is  a  wonderful  sameness  over  the 
world  just  now,  preluding,  .1  have  very  little  doubt,  some  great 
outburst  of  nationality  from  all  the  countries  of  Europe,  —  just 
as  periods  of  Puritanism  succeed  intervals  of  gross  licentiousness. 

Society  here  is,  therefore,  what  you  see  it  in  London  or  Paris ; 
weU-bred  people,  like  Gold,  are  current  everywhere.  There  is 
really  little  peculiar  to  observe.  I  don't  perceive  that  there  is 
more  levity  than  elsewhere.  The  difference  is,  perhaps,  that  there 
is  less  shame  about  it,  since  it  is  under  the  protection  of  the 
Church. 

I  go  out  very  little ;  my  notion  is,  that  the  Diplomatist,  like  the 
ancient  Augur,  must  not  suffer  himself  to  be  vulgarized  by  con- 
tact. He  can  only  lose,  not  gain,  by  that  mixed  intercourse  with 
the  world.  I  have  a  few  who  come  when  I  want  them,  and  go  in 
like  manner.  They  tell  me  "  what  is  going  on,"  far  better  and 
more  truthfully  than  paid  employees,  and  they  cannot  trace  my 
intentions  through  my  inquiries,  and  hasten  off  to  retail  them  at 
the  Ministry  of  Foreign  Affairs.  Of  my  colleagues  I  see  as  little 
as  possible,  though,  when  we  do  meet,  I  feel  an  unbounded  affec- 
tion for  them.  So  much  for  my  life,  dear  Harcourt ;  on  the  whole, 
a  very  tolerable  kind  of  existence,  which  if  few  would  envy,  still 
fewer  would  care  to  part  with. 

I  now  come  to  the  chief  portion  of  your  letter.  This  boy  of 
Glencore's,  I  rather  like  the  account  you  give  of  him,  better  than 
you  do  yourself.  Imaginative  and  dreamy  he  may  be,  but  remem- 
ber what  he  was,  and  where  we  have  placed  him.  A  moonstruck, 
romantic  youth  at  a  German  University.  Is  it  not  painting  the 
lily? 

I  merely  intended  he  should  go  to  Gottingen  to  learn  the  lan- 
guage, —  always  a  difficulty,  if  not  abstracted  from  other  and  more 


AN  UPTONIAN  DESPATCH.  16T 

dulcet  sounds.  I  never  meant  to  have  him  domesticated  with 
some  rusty  Hochgelehrter,  eating  sauer-kraut  in  company  with  a 
green-eyed  Fraulein,  and  imbibing  love  and  metaphysics  together. 
Let  him  "  moon  away,"  as  you  call  it,  my  dear  Harcourt.  It  is 
wonderfully  little  consequence  what  any  one  does  with  his  intellect 
till  he  be  three  or  four  and  twenty.  Indeed,  I  half  suspect  that 
the  soil  might  be  left  quietly  to  rear  weeds  till  that  time ;  and  as 
to  dreaminess,  it  signifies  nothing  if  there  be  a  strong  "physique." 
With  a  weak  frame,  imagination  will  play  the  tyrant,  and  never 
cease  till  it  dominates  over  all  the  other  faculties  ;  but  where  there 
is  strength  and  activity,  there  is  no  fear  of  this. 

You  amuse  me  with  your  account  of  the  doctor ;  and  so  the 
Germans  have  actually  taken  him  for  a  savant,  and  given  him  a 
degree  "  honoris  causa."  May  they  never  make  a  worse  blunder. 
The  man  is  eminently  remarkable,  —  with  his  opportunities,  mirac- 
ulous. I  am  certain,  Harcourt,  you  never  felt  half  the  pleasure  on 
arriving  at  a  region  well  stocked  with  game,  that  he  did  on  find- 
ing himself  in  a  land  of  Libraries,  Museums,  and  Collections. 
Fancy  the  poor  fellow's  ecstasy  at  being  allowed  to  range  at  will 
through  all  ancient  literature,  of  which  hitherto  a  stray  volume 
alone  had  reached  him.  Imagine  his  delight  as  each  day  opened 
new  stores  of  knowledge  to  him,  surrounded  as  he  was  by  all  that 
could  encourage  zeal  and  reward  research.  The  boy's  treatment 
of  him  pleases  me  much ;  it  smacks  of  the  gentle  blood  in  his  veins. 
Poor  lad,  there  is  something  very  sad  in  his  case. 

You  need  not  have  taken  such  trouble  about  accounts  and  ex- 
penditure ;  of  course,  whatever  you  have  done  I  perfectly  approve 
of.  You  say  that  the  boy  has  no  idea  of  money  or  its  value. 
There  is  both  good  and  evil  in  this.  And  now  as  to  his  future.  I 
should  have  no  objection  whatever  to  having  him  attached  to  my 
Legation  here,  and  perhaps  no  great  difficulty  in  effecting  his 
appointment ;  but  there  is  a  serious  obstacle  in  his  position.  The 
young  men  who  figure  at  embassies  and  missions  are  all  "  cognate 
numbers."  They  each  of  them  know  who  and  what  the  other  is, 
whence  he  came,  and  so  on.  Now,  our  poor  boy  could  not  stand 
this  ordeal,  nor  would  it  be  fair  he  should  be  exposed  to  it.  Be- 
sides this,  it  was  never  Glenpore's  wish,  but  the  very  opposite  to  it, 
that  he  should  be  brought  prominently  forward  in  life.  He  even 
suggested  one  of  the  Colonies  as  the  means  of  withdrawing  him  at 
once,  and  forever,  from  public  gaze. 

You  have  interested  me  much  by  what  you  say  of  the  boy's 
progress.  His  tastes,  I  infer,  lie  in  the  direction  which,  in  a 
worldly  sense,  are  least  profitable ;  but,  after  all,  Harcourt,  every 
one  has  brains  enough,  and  to  spare,  for  any  career.  Let  us 
only  decide  upon  that  one  most  fitted  for  him,  and,  depend  upon 


168        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

it,  his  faculties  will  day  by  day  conform  to  his  duties,  and  his 
tastes  be  merely  dissipations,  just  as  play  or  wine  is  to  coarser 
natures. 

If  you  really  press  the  question  of  his  coming  to  me,  I  will  not 
refuse,  seeing  that  I  can  take  my  own  time  to  consider  what  steps 
subsequently  should  be  adopted.  How  is  it  that  you  know  nothing 
of  Glencore,  —  can  he  not  be  traced? 

Lord  Selby,  whom  you  may  remember  in  the  Blues  formerly, 
dined  here  yesterday,  and  mentioned  a  communication  he  had  re- 
ceived from  his  lawyer  with  regard  to  some  property  in  tail,  M^hich, 
if  Glencore  should  leave  no  heir  male,  devolved  upon  him.  I  tried 
to  find  out  the  whereabouts  and  the  amount  of  this  heritage ;  but, 
with  the  admirable  indifference  that  characterizes  him,  he  did  not 
know  or  care. 

As  to  my  Lady,  I  can  give  you  no  information  whatever.  Her 
house  at  Florence  is  uninhabited,  the  furniture  is  sold  off  ;  but  no 
one  seems  even  to  guess  whither  she  has  betaken  herself.  The  fast 
and  loose  of  that  pleasant  city  are,  as  I  hear,  actually  houseless  since 
her  departure.  No  asylum  opens  there  with  fire  and  cigars.  A 
number  of  the  destitute  have  come  down  here  in  half  despair, 
amongst  the  rest  Scaresby,  —  Major  Scaresby,  an  insupportable 
nuisance  of  flat  stories  and  stale  gossip ;  one  of  those  fellows  who 
cannot  make  even  malevolence  amusing,  and  who  speak  ill  of  their 
neighbors  without  a  single  spark  of  wit.  He  has  left  three  cards 
upon  me,  each  duly  returned ;  but  I  am  resolved  that  our  inter- 
change of  courtesies  shall  proceed  no  farther. 

I  trust  I  have  omitted  nothing  in  reply  to  your  last  despatch, 
except  it  be  to  say  that  I  look  for  you  here  about  September,  or 
earlier,  if  as  convenient  to  you ;  you  will,  of  course,  write  to  me, 
however,  meanwhile. 

Do  not  mention  having  heard  from  me,  at  the  clubs  or  in 
society.  I  am,  as  I  have  the  right  to  be,  on  the  sick  list,  and  it  is 
as  well  my  rest  should  remain  undisturbed. 

I  wish  you  had  any  means  of  making  it  known  that  the  article 
in  the  "  Quarterly,"  on  our  Foreign  relations,  is  not  mine.  The 
newspapers  have  coolly  assumed  me  to  be  the  author,  and  of 
course  I  am  not  going  to  give  them  the  eclat  of  a  personal  denial. 
The  fellow  who  wrote  it  must  be  an  ass ;  since  had  he  known  what 
he  pretends,  he  had  never  revealed  it.  He  who  wants  to  bag  his 
bird,  Colonel,  never  bangs  away  at  nothing.  I  have  now  completed 
a  longer  despatch  to  you  than  I  intend  to  address  to  the  Noble 
Secretary  at  F.  O.,  and  am  yours,  very  faithfully, 

Horace  Upton. 


AN  UPTONIAN  DESPATCH.  169 

Whose  Magnesia  is  it  that  contains  essence  of  Bark  ?  Tripley's 
or  Chipley's,  I  think.  Find  it  out  for  me,  and  send  me  a  packet 
through  the  office ;  put  up  Fauchard's  pamphlet  with  it,  on  Spain, 
and  a  small  box  of  those  new  blisters,  —  Mouches  they  are  called ; 
they  are  to  be  had  at  Atkinson's.  I  have  got  so  accustomed  to 
their  stimulating  power  that  I  never  write  without  one  or  two  on 
my  forehead.  They  tell  me  the  cautery,  if  dexterously  applied,  is 
better ;  but  I  have  not  tried  it. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE   TUTOR   AND   HIS    PUPIL. 

We  are  not  about  to  follow  up  the  correspondence  of  Sir 
Horace  by  detailing  the  reply  which  Harcourt  sent,  and  all 
that  thereupon  ensued  between  them. 

We  pass  over,  then,  some  months  of  time,  and  arrive  at 
the  late  autumn. 

It  is  a  calm,  still  morning ;  the  sea,  streaked  with  tinted 
shadows,  is  without  a  ripple ;  the  ships  of  many  nations  that 
float  on  it  are  motionless,  their  white  sails  hung  out  to  bleach, 
their  ensigns  drooping  beside  the  masts.  Over  the  summit  of 
Vesuvius  —  for  we  are  at  Naples  —  a  light  blue  cloud  hangs, 
the  solitary  one  in  all  the  sky.  A  mild,  plaintive  song,  the 
chant  of  some  fishermen  on  the  rocks,  is  the  only  sound, 
save  the  continuous  hum  of  that  vast  city,  which  swells  and 
falls  at  intervals. 

Close  beside  the  sea,  seated  on  a  rock,  are  two  figures. 
One  is  that  of  a  youth  of  some  eighteen  or  nineteen  years ; 
his  features,  eminently  handsome,  wear  an  expression  of 
gloomy  pride  as  in  deep  preoccupation  he  gazes  out  over 
the  bay ;  to  all  seeming,  indifferent  to  the  fair  scene  before 
him,  and  wrapped  in  his  own  sad  thoughts.  The  other  is  a 
short,  square-built,  almost  uncouth  figure,  overshadowed  by 
a  wide  straw  hat,  which  seems  even  to  diminish  his  stature  ; 
a  suit  of  black,  wide  and  ample  enough  for  one  twice  his 
size,  gives  his  appearance  a  grotesqueness  to  which  his  fea- 
tures contribute^ their  share. 

It  is,  indeed,  a  strange  physiognomy,  to  which  Celt  and 
Calmuc  seem  equally  to  contribute.  The  low,  overhanging 
forehead,  the  intensely  keen  eye,  sparkling  with  an  almost 
imp-like  drollery,  are  contrasted  by  a  firmly  compressed  mouth 
and  a  far-projecting  under-jaw  that  imply  sternness  even  to 


THE  TUTOR  AND   HIS  PUPIL.  171 

cruelty ;  a  mass  of  waving  black  haii*,  that  covers  neck  and 
shoulders,  adds  a  species  of  savagery  to  a  head  which 
assuredly  has  no  need  of  such  aid.  Bent  down  over  a  large 
quarto  volume,  he  never  lifts  his  eyes;  but,  intently  oc- 
cupied, his  lips  are  rapidly  repeating  the  words  as  he  reads 
them. 

"Do  you  mean  to  pass  the  morning  here?"  asks  the 
youth,  at  length,  "or  where  shall  I  find  you  later  on?" 

"I'll  do  whatever  you  like  best,"  said  the  other,  in  a  rich 
brogue;  "I'm  agreeable  to  go  or  stay, — ad  utrumque  pa- 
ratus."  And  Billy  Traynor,  for  it  was  he,  shut  up  his 
venerable  volume. 

"I  don't  wish  to  disturb  you,"  said  the  boy,  mildly, 
"  you  can  read,  /cannot;  I  have  a  fretful,  impatient  feel- 
ing over  me  that  perhaps  will  go  off  with  exercise.  I'll 
set  out,  then,  for  a  walk,  and  come  back  here  towards  even- 
ing, then  go  and  dine  at  the  Rocca,  and  afterwards  what- 
ever you  please." 

"  If  you  say  that,  then,"  said  Billy,  in  a  voice  of  evident 
delight,  "we'll  finish  the  day  at  the  Professor  Tadeucci's, 
and  get  him  to  go  over  that  analysis  again." 

"I  have  no  taste  for  chemistry.  It  always  seems  to  me 
to  end  where  it  began,"  said  the  boy,  impatiently.  "  Where 
do  all  researches  tend  to?  how  are  you  elevated  in  intellect? 
how  are  your  thoughts  higher,  wider,  nobler,  by  all  these 
mixings  and  manipulations  ?  " 

"Is  it  nothing  to  know  how  thunder  and  lightning  is 
made ;  to  understand  electricity ;  to  dive  into  the  secrets  of 
that  old  crater  there,  and  see  the  ingredients  in  the  crucible 
that  was  bilin'  three  thousand  years  ago  ?  " 

"These  things  appeal  more  grandly  to  my  imagination 
when  the  mystery  of  their  forces  is  unrevealed.  I  like  to 
think  of  them  as  dread  manifestations  of  a  mighty  will, 
rather  than  gaseous  combinations  or  metallic  affinities." 

"And  what  prevents  you?"  said  Billy,  eagerly.  "Is  the 
grandeur  of  the  phenomenon  impaired  because  it  is  in  part 
intelligible  ?  Ain't  you  elevated  as  a  reasoning  being  when 
you  get  what  I  may  call  a  peep  into  God's  workshop,  rather 
than  by  implicitly  accepting  results  just  as  any  old  woman 
accepts  a  superstition?" 


172        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"There  is  something  ignoble  in  mechanism,"  said  the 
boy,  angrily. 

*' Don't  say  that,  while  j^our  heart  is  beatin'  and  your 
arteries  is  contractin' ;  never  say  it  as  long  as  your  lungs 
dilate  or  collapse.  It's  mechanism  makes  water  burst  out 
of  the  ground,  and,  swelling  into  streams,  flow  as  mighty 
rivers  through  the  earth.  It's  mechanism  raises  the  sap 
to  the  topmost  bough  of  the  cedar-tree  that  waves  over 
Lebanon.  'T  is  the  same  power  moves  planets  above,  just 
to  show  us  that  as  there  is  nothing  without  a  cause,  there  is 
one  great  and  final  '  Cause'  behind  all." 

"  And  will  you  tell  me,"  said  the  boy,  sneeringly,  "  that  a 
sunbeam  pours  more  gladness  into  your  heart  because  a 
prism  has  explained  to  you  the  composition  of  light?" 

' '  God's  blessings  never  seemed  the  less  to  me  because  he 
taught  me  the  beautiful  laws  that  guide  them,"  said  Billy, 
reverently ;  "  every  little  step  that  I  take  out  of  darkness  is 
on  the  road,  at  least,  to  Him." 

In  part  abashed  by  the  words,  in  part  admonished  by  the 
tone  of  the  speaker,  the  boy  was  silent  for  some  minutes. 
"  You  know,  Billy,"  said  he,  at  length,  ''  that  I  spoke  in  no 
irreverence ;  that  I  would  no  more  insult  your  convictions 
than  I  would  outrage  my  own.  It  is  simply  that  it  suits 
my  dreamy  indolence  to  like  the  wonderful  better  than  the 
intelligible;  and  you  must  acknowledge  that  there  never 
was  so  palatable  a  theory  for  ignorance." 

"Ay,  but  I  don't  want  you  to  be  ignorant,"  said  Billy, 
earnestly  ;  "  and  there  's  no  greater  mistake  than  supposing 
that  knowledge  is  an  impediment  to  the  play  of  fancy. 
Take  my  word  for  it.  Master  Charles,  imagination,  no  more 
than  any  one  else,  does  not  work  best  in  the  dark." 

"  I  certainly  am  no  adept  under  such  circumstances," 
said  the  boy.  "  I  have  n't  told  you  what  happened  me  in 
the  studio  last  night.  I  went  in  without  a  candle,  and,  try- 
ing to  grope  my  way  to  the  table,  I  overturned  the  large 
olive  jar,  full  of  clay,  against  my  Niobe,  and  smashed  her 
to  atoms." 

"  Smashed  Niobe !  "  cried  Billy,  in  horror. 

"In  pieces.  I  stood  over  her  sadder  than  ever  she  felt 
herself,  and  I  have  not  had  the  courage  to  enter  the  studio 
since." 


THE  TUTOR  AND  HIS  PUPn..  173 

"Come,  come,  let  us  see  if  she  couldn't  be  restored,'* 
said  Billy,  rising.     "  Let  us  go  down  there  together." 

"You  may,  if  you  have  any  fancy, — there's  the  key," 
said  the  boy.  "I'll  return  there  no  more  till  the  rubbish 
be  cleared  away."  And  so  saying,  he  moved  off,  and  was 
soon  out  of  sight. 

Deeply  grieving  over  this  disaster,  Billy  Traynor  hastened 
from  the  spot,  but  he  had  only  reached  the  garden  of  the 
Chiaja  when  he  heard  a  faint,  weak  voice  calling  him  by  his 
name ;  he  turned,  and  saw  Sir  Horace  Upton,  who,  seated  in 
a  sort  of  portable  arm-chair,  was  enjoying  the  fresh  air 
from  the  sea. 

"  Quite  a  piece  of  good  fortune  to  meet  you.  Doctor,"  said 
he,  smiling ;  ' '  neither  you  nor  your  pupil  have  been  near  me 
for  ten  days  or  more." 

"'Tis  our  own  loss  then,  your  Excellency,"  said  Billy, 
bowing;  "even  a  chance  few  minutes  in  your  company  is 
like  whetting  the  intellectual  razor,  —  I  feel  myself  sharper 
for  the  whole  day  after." 

"Then  why  not  come  oftener,  man?  Are  you  afraid  of 
wearing  the  steel  all  away  ?  " 

"  'Tis  more  afraid  I  am  of  gapping  the  fine  edge  of  your 
Excellency  by  contact  with  my  own  ruggedness,"  said  Billy, 
obsequiously. 

"You  were  intended  for  a  courtier,  Doctor,"  said  Sir 
Horace,  smiling. 

"  If  there  was  such  a  thing  as  a  court  fool  nowadays, 
I'd  look  for  the  place." 

"The  age  is  too  dull  for  such  a  functionary.  They'll 
not  find  ten  men  in  any  country  of  Europe  equal  to  the 
oflSce,"  said  Sir  Horace.  "  One  has  only  to  see  how  lament- 
ably dull  are  the  journals  dedicated  to  wit  and  drollery,  to 
admit  this  fact ;  though  written  by  many  hands,  how  rare  it 
is  to  chance  upon  what  provokes  a  laugh.  You  '11  have  fifty 
metaphysicians  anywhere  before  you  '11  hit  on  one  Moliere. 
Will  you  kindly  open  that  umbrella  for  me  ?  This  autumnal 
sun,  they  say,  gives  sunstroke.  And  now  what  do  you 
think  of  this  boy?  He'll  not  make  a  diplomatist,  that's 
clear." 

"  He  '11  not  make  anything,  —  just  for  one  simple  reason, 
because  he  could  be  whatever  he  pleased." 


174        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

*'  An  intellectual  spendthrift,'*  sighed  Sir  Horace. 
"What  a  hopeless  bankruptcy  it  leads  to!  " 

"  My  notion  is  'twould  be  spoiling  him  entirely  to  teach 
him  a  trade  or  a  profession.  Let  his  great  faculties  shoot 
up  without  being  trimmed  or  trained;  don't  want  to  twist 
or  twine  or  turn  them  at  all,  but  just  see  whether  he  won't, 
out  of  his  uncurbed  nature,  do  better  than  all  our  discipline 
could  effect.  There 's  no  better  colt  than  the  one  that  was 
never  backed  till  he  was  a  five-year-old." 

"He  ought  to  have  a  career,"  said  Sir  Horace,  thought- 
fully. "  Every  man  ought  to  have  a  calling,  if  only  that  he 
may  be  able  to  abandon  it." 

"  Just  as  a  sailor  has  a  point  of  departure,"  said  Billy. 

"Precisely,"  said  Sir  Horace,  pleased  at  being  so  well 
appreciated. 

"  You  are  aware.  Doctor,"  resumed  he,  after  a  pause, 
"that  the  lad  will  have  little  or  no  private  fortune.  There 
are  family  circumstances  that  I  cannot  enter  into,  nor  would 
your  own  delicacy  require  it,  that  will  leave  him  almost 
dependent  on  his  own  efforts.  Now,  as  time  is  rolling  over, 
we  should  bethink  us  what  direction  it  were  wisest  to  give  his 
talents  ;  for  he  has  talents." 

"He  has  genius  and  talents  both,"  said  Billy;  "  he  has 
the  raw  material,  and  the  workshop  to  manufacture  it." 

"  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  such  an  account  from  one  so  well 
able  to  pronounce,"  said  Sir  Horace,  blandly;  and  Billy 
bowed,  and  blushed  with  a  sense  of  happiness  that  none  but 
humble  men,  so  praised,  could  ever  feel. 

' '  I  should  like  much  to  hear  what  you  would  advise  for 
him,"  said  Upton. 

"  He's  so  full  of  promise,"  said  Billy,  "  that  whatever  he 
takes  to  he  '11  be  sure  to  fancy  he  'd  be  better  at  something 
else.  See,  now,  —  it  isn  't  a  bull  I  'm  sayin',  but  I  '11  make 
a  blunder  of  it  if  I  try  to  explain." 

"  Go  on ;  I  think  I  apprehend  you." 

"By  coorse  you  do.  Well,  it's  that  same  feelin'  makes 
me  cautious  of  sayin'  what  he  ought  to  do.  For,  after  all, 
a  variety  of  capacity  implies  discursiveness,  and  discursive- 
ness ig  the  mother  of  failure." 

"  You  speak  like  an  oracle,  Doctor." 


THE  TUTOR  AND  HIS  PUPIL.  175 

'^  If  I  do,  it 's  because  the  priest  is  beside  me,"  said  Billy, 
bowing.  "My  notion  is  this:  I'd  let  him  cultivate  his 
fine  gifts  for  a  year  or  two  in  any  way  he  liked,  —  in  work 
or  idleness  ;  for  they  '11  grow  in  the  fallow  as  well  as  in  the 
tilled  land.  I  'd  let  him  be  whatever  he  liked,  —  striving 
always,  as  he 's  sure  to  be  striving,  after  something  higher, 
and  greater,  and  better  than  he'll  ever  reach;  and  then, 
when  he  has  felt  both  his  strength  and  his  weakness,  I  'd  try 
and  attach  him  to  some  great  man  in  public  life ;  set  a  grand 
ambition  before  him,  and  say,  '  Go  on.'  " 

"He's  scarcely  the  stuff  for  public  life,"  muttered  Sir 
Horace. 

"  He  is,"  said  Billy,  boldly. 

"  He  'd  be  easily  abashed,  — easily  deterred  by  failure." 

"  Sorra  bit.  Success  might  cloy,  but  failure  would  never 
damp  him." 

"  I  can't  fancy  him  a  speaker." 

"Rouse  him  by  a  strong  theme  and  a  flat  contradiction, 
and  you  '11  see  what  he  can  do." 

"  And  then  his  lounging,  idle  habits  —  " 

"  He'll  do  more  in  two  hours  than  any  one  else  in  two 
days." 

"You  are  a  warm  admirer,  my  dear  Doctor,"  said  Sir 
Horace,  smiling  blandly.  ' '  I  should  almost  rather  have 
such  a  friend  than  the  qualities  that  win  the  friendship.  — 
Have  you  a  message  for  me,  Antoine  ?  "  said  he  to  a  servant 
who  stood  at  a  little  distance,  waiting  the  order  to  approach. 
The  man  came  forward,  and  whispered  a  few  words.  Sir 
Horace's  cheek  gave  a  faint,  the  very  faintest  possible,  sign 
of  flush  as  he  listened,  and  uttering  a  brief  "Very  well," 
dismissed  the  messenger. 

"Will  you  give  me  your  arm,  Doctor?"  said  he,  lan- 
guidly; and  the  elegant  Sir  Horace  Upton  passed  down 
the  crowded  promenade,  leaning  on  his  uncouth  companion, 
without  the  slightest  consciousness  of  the  surprise  and 
sarcasm  around  him.  No  man  more  thoroughly  could 
appreciate  conventionalities ;  he  would  weigh  the  effect  of 
appearances  to  the  veriest  nicety ;  but  in  practice  he  seemed 
either  to  forget  his  knowledge  or  despise  it.  So  that,  as 
leaning  on  the  little  dwarf's  arm  he  moved  along,  his  very 


176        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

air  of  fashionable  languor  seemed  to  heighten  the  absurdity 
of  the  contrast.  Nay,  he  actually  seemed  to  bestow  an  al- 
most deferential  attention  to  what  the  other  said,  bowing 
blandly  his  acquiescence,  and  smiling  with  an  urbanity  all 
his  own. 

Of  the  crowd  that  passed,  nearly  all  knew  the  English 
Minister.  Uncovered  heads  were  bent  obsequiously  ;  grace- 
ful salutations  met  him  as  he  went ;  while  a  hundred  con- 
jectures ran  as  to  who  and  what  might  be  his  companion. 

He  was  a  Mesmeric  Professor,  a  Writer  in  Cipher,  a 
Rabbi,  an  Egyptian  Explorer,  an  Alchemist,  an  African 
Traveller,  and,  at  last.  Monsieur  Thiers !  —  and  so  the  fine 
world  of  Naples  discussed  the  humble  individual  whom 
you  and  I,  dear  reader,  are  acquainted  with  as  Billy 
Traynor. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

COMES    TO   ITS   CLOSE. 

On  the  evening  of  that  day  the  handsome  saloons  of  the 
great  Hotel  "  Universo  "  were  filled  with  a  brilliant  assem- 
blage to  compliment  the  Princess  Sabloukoff  on  her  arri- 
val. We  have  already  introduced  this  lady  to  the  reader, 
and  have  no  need  to  explain  the  homage  and  attention 
of  which  she  was  the  object.  There  is  nothing  which  so 
perfectly  illustrates  the  maxim  of  ignotum  pro  magnifico 
as  the  career  of  politics;  certain  individuals  obtaining,  as 
they  do,  a  pre-eminence  and  authority  from  a  species  of 
mysterious  prestige  about  them,  and  a  reputation  of  having 
access  at  any  moment  to  the  highest  personage  in  the  world 
of  state  affairs.  Doubtless  great  ministers  are  occasionally 
not  sorry  to  see  the  public  full  cry  on  a  false  scent,  and 
encourage  to  a  certain  extent  this  mystification;  but  still 
it  would  be  an  error  to  deny  to  such  persons  as  we  speak  of 
a  knowledge,  if  not  actually  an  influence,  in  great  affairs. 

When  the  Swedish  Chancellor  uttered  his  celebrated  sar- 
casm on  the  governing  capacities  of  Europe,  the  political 
salon,  as  a  state  engine,  was  not  yet  in  existence.  What 
additional  energy  might  it  have  given  to  his  remark,  had  he 
known  that  the  tea-table  was  the  chapel  of  ease  to  the 
council-room,  and  gossip  a  new  power  in  the  state.  Des- 
potic governments  are  always  curious  about  public  opinion ; 
they  dread  while  affecting  to  despise  it.  They,  however, 
make  a  far  greater  mistake  than  this,  for  they  imagine  its 
true  exponent  to  be  the  society  of  the  highest  in  rank  and 
station. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  insist  upon  an  error  so  palpable, 
and  yet  it  is  one  of  which  nearly  every  capital  of  Europe 
affords  example ;  and  the  same  council-chamber  that  would 

12 


178        THE  FORTUNES  OE  GLENCORE. 

treat  a  popular  movement  with  disdain  would  tremble  at 
the  epigram  launched  by  some  ''  elegant"  of  society.  The 
theory  is,  "  that  the  masses  act^  but  never  think;  the  higher 
ranks  thinks  and  set  the  rest  in  motion."  Whether  well  or 
ill  founded,  one  consequence  of  the  system  is  to  inundate 
the  world  with  a  number  of  persons  who,  no  matter  what 
their  station  or  pretensions,  are  no  other  than  spies.  If  it 
be  observed  that,  generally  speaking,  there  is  nothing  worth 
recording;  that  society,  too  much  engaged  with  its  own 
vicissitudes,  troubles  itself  little  with  those  of  the  state,  —  let 
it  be  remembered  that  the  governments  which  employ  these 
agencies  are  in  a  position  to  judge  of  the  value  of  what  they 
receive  ;  and  as  they  persevere  in  maintaining  them,  they  are, 
doubtless,  in  some  degree,  remunerated. 

To  hold  this  high  detective  employ,  a  variety  of  conditions 
are  essential.  The  individual  must  have  birth  and  breeding 
to  gain  access  to  the  highest  circles ;  conciliating  manners 
and  ample  means.  If  a  lady,  she  is  usually  young  and  a 
beauty,  or  has  the  fame  of  having  once  been  such.  The 
strangest  part  of  all  is,  that  her  position  is  thoroughly  appre- 
ciated. She  is  recognized  everywhere  for  what  she  is ;  and 
yet  her  presence  never  seems  to  impose  a  restraint  or  suggest 
a  caution.  She  becomes,  in  reality,  less  a  discoverer  than  a 
depositary  of  secrets.  Many  have  something  to  communi- 
cate, and  are  only  at  a  loss  as  to  the  channel.  They  have 
found  out  a  political  puzzle,  hit  a  state  blot,  or  unravelled  a 
cabinet  mystery.  Others  are  in  possession  of  some  personal 
knowledge  of  royalty.  They  have  marked  the  displeasure 
of  the  Queen  Dowager,  or  seen  the  anger  of  the  Crown 
Prince.  Profitable  as  such  facts  are,  they  are  nothing  with- 
out a  market.  Thus  it  is  that  these  characters  exercise  a 
wider  sphere  of  influence  than  might  be  naturally  ascribed  to 
them,  and  possess  besides  a  terrorizing  power  over  society, 
the  chief  members  of  which  are  at  their  mercy. 

It  is,  doubtless,  not  a  little  humiliating  that  such  should 
be  the  instruments  of  a  government,  and  that  royalty  should 
avail  itself  of  such  agencies ;  but  the  fact  is  so,  and  perhaps 
an  inquiry  into  the  secret  working  of  democratic  institutions 
might  not  make  one  a  whit  more  proud  of  Popular 
Sovereignty. 


HOW  A  "RECEPTION"  COMES  TO  ITS  CLOSE.      179 

Amongst  the  proficients  in  the  great  science  we  speak  of, 
the  Princess  held  the  first  place.  Mysterious  stories  ran  of 
her  acquaintance  with  affairs  the  most  momentous ;  there 
were  narratives  of  her  complicity  in  even  darker  events. 
Her  name  was  quoted  by  Savary  in  his  secret  report  of  the 
Emperor  Paul's  death ;  an  allusion  to  her  was  made  by  one 
of  the  assassins  of  Murat ;  and  a  gloomy  record  of  a  cele- 
brated incident  in  Louis  Philippe's  life  ascribed  to  her  a 
share  in  a  terrible  tragedy.  Whether  believed  or  not,  they 
added  to  the  prestige  that  attended  her,  and  she  was  virtually 
a  '* puissance"  in  European  politics. 

To  all  the  intriguists  in  state  affairs  her  arrival  was 
actually  a  boon.  She  could  and  would  give  them,  out  of  her 
vast  capital,  enough  to  establish  them  successfully  in  trade. 
To  the  minister  of  police  she  brought  accurate  descriptions 
of  suspected  characters,  —  the  signalements  of  Carbonari 
that  were  threatening  half  the  thrones  of  Europe.  To  the 
foreign  secretary  she  brought  tidings  of  the  favor  in  which 
a  great  Emperor  held  him,  and  a  shadowy  vision  of  the 
grand  cross  he  was  one  day  to  have.  She  had  forbidden 
books  for  the  cardinal  confessor,  and  a  case  of  smuggled 
cigars  for  the  minister  of  finance.  The  picturesque  language 
of  a  "Journal  de  Modes  "  could  alone  convey  the  rare  and 
curious  details  of  dress  which  she  imported  for  the  benefit 
of  the  court  ladies.  In  a  word,  she  had  something  to  secure 
her  a  welcome  in  every  quarter,  —  and  all  done  with  a  tact 
and  a  delicacy  that  the  most  susceptible  could  not  have 
resisted. 

If  the  tone  and  manner  of  good  society  present  little  suit- 
able to  description,  they  are  yet  subjects  of  great  interest  to 
him  who  would  study  men  in  their  moods  of  highest  subtlety 
and  astuteness.  To  mere  passing  careless  observation,  the 
reception  of  the  Princess  was  a  crowded  gathering  of  a 
number  of  well-dressed  people,  in  which  the  men  were  in  far 
larger  proportion  than  the  other  sex.  There  was  abundance 
of  courtesy;  not  a  little  of  that  half-flattering  compliment 
which  is  the  small  change  of  intercourse ;  some  —  not  much 
■ — scandal,  and  a  fair  share  of  small- talk.  It  was  late  when 
Sir  Horace  Upton  entered,  and,  advancing  to  where  the 
Princess  stood,  kissed  her  gloved  hand  with  all  the  submls- 


180        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

sive  deference  of  a  courtier.  The  most  lynx-eyed  observer 
could  not  have  detected  either  in  his  manner  or  in  hers  that 
any  intimacy  existed  between  them,  much  less  friendship; 
least  of  all,  anything  still  closer.  His  bearing  was  a  most 
studied  and  respectful  homage,  —  hers  a  haughty,  but  con- 
descending, acceptance  of  it;  and  yet,  with  all  this,  there 
was  that  in  those  around  that  seemed  to  say,  "This  man  is 
more  master  here  than  any  of  us."  He  did  not  speak  long 
with  the  Princess,  but,  respectfully  yielding  his  place  to  a 
later  arrival,  fell  back  into  the  crowd,  and  soon  after  took 
a  seat  beside  one  of  the  very  few  ladies  who  graced  the 
reception.  In  all,  they  were  very  few,  we  are  bound  to 
acknowledge;  for  although  La  Sabloukoff  was  received  at 
court  and  all  the  embassies,  they  who  felt,  or  affected  to 
feel,  any  strictness  on  the  score  of  morals  avoided  rather 
than  sought  her  intimacy. 

She  covered  over  what  might  have  seemed  this  disparage- 
ment of  her  conduct,  by  always  seeking  the  society  of  men, 
as  though  their  hardy  and  vigorous  intellects  were  more  in 
unison  with  her  own  than  the  graceful  attributes  of  the  softer 
sex ;  and  in  this  tone  did  the  few  lady  friends  she  possessed 
appear  also  to  concur.  It  was  their  pride  to  discuss  matters 
of  state  and  politics ;  and  whenever  they  condescended  to 
more  trifling  themes,  they  treated  them  with  a  degree  of 
candor  and  in  a  spirit  that  allowed  men  to  speak  as  unre- 
servedly as  though  no  ladies  were  present. 

Let  us  be  forgiven  for  prolixity,  since  we  are  speaking 
less  of  individuals  than  of  a  school,  —  a  school,  too,  on  the 
increase,  and  one  whose  results  will  be  more  widely  felt 
than  many  are  disposed  to  believe. 

As  the  evening  wore  on,  the  guests  bartered  the  news 
and  bons  mots;  scraps  of  letters  from  royal  hands  were 
read ;  epigrams  from  illustrious  characters  repeated ;  racy 
bits  of  courtly  scandal  were  related ;  and  shrewd  expla- 
nations hazarded  as  to  how  this  was  to  turn  out,  and  that 
was  to  end.  It  was  a  very  strange  language  they  talked, 
—  so  much  seemed  left  for  inference,  so  much  seemed  left 
to  surmise.  There  was  a  shadowy  indistinctness,  as  it  were, 
over  all ;  and  yet  their  manner  showed  a  perfect  and  thorough 
appreciation  of  whatever  went  forward.      Through  all  this 


HOW  A  "RECEPTION"  COMES  TO  ITS  CLOSE.      181 

treatment  of  great  questions,  one  striking  feature  pre-emi- 
nently displayed  itself,  —  a  keen  appreciation  of  how  much 
the  individual  characters,  the  passions,  the  prejudices,  the 
very  caprices  of  men  in  power  modified  the  acts  of  their 
governments ;  and  thus  you  constantly  heard  such  remarks 
as,  "  If  the  Duke  of  Wellington  disliked  the  Emperor  less; 
or,  so  long  as  Metternich  has  such  an  attachment  to  the 
Queen  Dowager;  when  we  get  over  Carini's  dread  of  the 
Archduchess;  or,  if  we  could  only  reconcile  the  Prince  to 
a  visit  from  Kesselrode,"  —  showing  that  private  personal 
feelings  were  swaying  the  minds  of  those  whose  contempla- 
tion might  have  seemed  raised  to  a  far  loftier  level.  And 
then  what  a  mass  of  very  small  gossip  abounded,  —  incidents 
so  slight  and  insignificant  that  they  only  were  lifted  into 
importance  by  the  actors  in  them  being  Kings  and  Kaisers ! 
By  what  accidents  great  events  were  determined ;  on  what 
mere  trifles  vast  interests  depended,  — it  were,  doubtless,  no 
novelty  to  record ;  still,  it  would  startle  many  to  be  told  that 
a  casual  pique,  a  passing  word  launched  at  hazard,  some 
petty  observance  omitted  or  forgotten,  have  changed  the 
destinies  of  whole  nations. 

It  is  in  such  circles  as  these  that  incidents  of  this  kind 
are  recounted.  Each  has  some  anecdote,  trivial  and  unim- 
portant it  may  be,  but  still  illustrating  the  life  of  those  who 
live  under  the  shadow  of  Royalty.  The  Princess  herself 
was  inexhaustible  in  these  stores  of  secret  biography ;  there 
was  not  a  dynastic  ambition  to  be  consolidated  by  a  mar- 
riage, not  a  Coburg  alliance  to  patch  up  a  family  compact, 
that  she  was  not  well  versed  in.  She  detected  in  the  vaguest 
movements  plans  and  intentions,  and  could  read  the  signs  of 
a  policy  in  indications  that  others  would  have  passed  with- 
out remark. 

One  by  one  the  company  retired,  and  at  length  Sir  Horace 
found  himself  the  last  guest  of  the  evening.  Scarcely  had 
the  door  closed  on  the  last  departure,  when,  drawing  his 
arm-chair  to  the  side  of  the  fire  opposite  to  that  where  the 
Princess  sat,  he  took  out  his  cigar-case,  and,  selecting  a 
cheroot,  deliberately  lighted  and  commenced  to  smoke  it. 

"  I  thought  they  'd  never  go,"  said  she,  with  a  sigh  ;  "  but 
I  know  why  they  remained,  —  they  all  thought  the  Prince  of 


182        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

Istria  was  coming.  They  saw  his  carriage  stop  here  this 
evening,  and  heard  he  had  sent  up  to  know  if  I  received. 
I  wrote  on  a  card,  '  To-morrow  at  dinner,  at  eight ;  *  so  be 
sure  you  are  here  to  meet  him." 

Sir  Horace  bowed,  and  smiled  his  acceptance. 

"  And  your  journey,  dear  Princess,"  said  he,  between  the 
puffs  of  his  smoke,  ''  was  it  pleasant?" 

"It  might  have  been  well  enough,  but  I  was  obliged  to 
make  a  great  detour.  The  Duchess  detained  me  at  Parma 
for  some  letters,  and  then  sent  me  across  the  mountains  of 
Pontremoli  —  a  frightful  road  —  on  a  secret  mission  to 
Massa." 

"  To  Massa !  of  all  earthly  places." 

"Even  so.  They  had  sent  down  there,  some  eight  or 
nine  months  ago,  the  young  Count  Wahnsdorf,  the  Arch- 
duchess Sophia's  son,  who,  having  got  into  all  manner  of 
dissipation  at  Vienna,  and  lost  largely  at  play,  it  was  judged 
expedient  to  exile  him  for  a  season;  and  as  the  Duke  of 
Modena  offered  his  aid  to  their  plans,  he  was  named  to  a 
troop  in  a  dragoon  regiment,  and  appointed  aide-de-camp 
to  his  Royal  Highness.  Are  you  attending;  or  has  your 
Excellency  lost  the  clew  of  my  story  ?  " 

"I  am  all  ears;  only  waiting  anxiously  to  hear:  who  is 
she?" 

"  Oh,  then,  you  suspect  a  woman  in  the  case?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,  dear  Princess.  The  very  accents  of 
your  voice  prepared  me  for  a  bit  of  romance." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right;  he  has  fallen  in  love,  —  so  desper- 
ately in  love  that  he  is  incessant  in  his  appeals  to  the 
Duchess  to  intercede  with  his  family  and  grant  him  leave 
to  marry." 

"  To  marry  whom?"  asked  Sir  Horace. 

"  That's  the  very  question  which  he  cannot  answer  him- 
self ;  and  when  pressed  for  information,  can  only  reply  that 
*  she  is  an  angel.'  Now,  angels  are  not  always  of  good 
family ;  they  have  sometimes  very  humble  parents,  and  very 
small  fortimes." 

^''Helas!"  sighed  the  diplomatist,  pitifully. 

"This  angel,  it  would  seem,  is  untraceable.  She  arrived 
with  her  mother,  or  what  is  supposed  to  be  her  mother, 


HOW  A  "RECEPTION"  COMES  TO  ITS  CLOSE.      183 

from  Corsica ;  they  landed  at  Spezzia,  with  an  English  pass- 
port, calling  them  Madame  and  Mademoiselle  Harley.  On 
arriving  at  Massa  they  took  a  villa  close  to  the  town,  and 
established  themselves  with  all  the  circumstance  of  people 
well-off  as  to  means.  They,  however,  neither  received  visits 
nor  made  acquaintance  with  any  one.  They  even  so  far 
withdrew  themselves  from  public  view  that  they  rarely  left 
their  own  grounds,  and  usually  took  their  carriage-airing  at 
night.     You  are  not  attending,  I  see." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  am  an  eager  listener;  only,  it  is  a 
story  one  has  heard  so  often.  I  never  heard  of  any  one 
preserving  the  incognito  except  where  disclosure  would  have 
revealed  a  shame." 

"  Your  Excellency  mistakes,"  replied  she ;  '^  the  incognito 
is  sometimes,  like  a  feigned  despatch  in  diplomacy,  a  means 
of  awakening  curiosity." 

"  Oes  ruses  ne  se  font  plus,  Princess, — they  were  the 
fashion  in  Talleyrand's  time ;  now  we  are  satisfied  to  mys- 
tify by  no  meaning." 

'*  If  the  weapons  of  the  old  school  are  not  employed, 
there  is  another  reason,  perhaps,"  said  she,  with  a  dubious 
smile. 

"That  modern  arms  are  too  feeble  to  wield  them,  you 
mean,"  said  he,  bowing  courteously.  "Ah!  it  is  but  too 
true.  Princess  ;  "  and  he  sighed  what  might  mean  regret  over 
the  fact,  or  devotion  to  herself,  —  perhaps  both.  At  all 
events,  his  submission  served  as  a  treaty  of  peace,  and  she 
resumed. 

"And  now,  revenons  a  nos  moutons,"  said  she,  "or  at 
least  to  our  lambs.  This  Wahnsdorf  is  quite  capable  of  con- 
tracting a  marriage  without  any  permission,  if  they  appear 
inclined  to  thwart  him ;  and  the  question  is.  What  can  be 
done  ?  The  Duke  would  send  these  people  away  out  of  his 
territory,  only  that,  if  they  be  English,  as  their  passports 
imply,  he  knows  that  there  will  be  no  end  of  trouble  with 
your  amiable  Government,  which  is  never  paternal  till  some 
one  corrects  one  of  her  children.  If  Wahnsdorf  be  sent 
away,  where  are  they  to  send  him?  Besides,  in  all  these 
cases  the  creature  carries  his  malady  with  him,  and  is  sure 
to  marry  the  first  who  sympathizes  with  him.     In  a  word, 


184        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

there  were  difficulties  on  all  sides,  and  the  Duchess  sent  me 
over,  in  observation,  as  they  say,  rather  than  with  any 
direct  plan  of  extrication." 

' '  And  you  went  ?  " 

"Yes;  I  passed  twenty-four  hours.  I  couldn't  stay 
longer,  for  I  promised  the  Cardinal  Caraffa  to  be  in  Rome 
on  the  18th,  about  those  Polish  nunneries.  As  to  Massa,  I 
gathered  little  more  than  I  had  heard  beforehand.  I  saw 
their  villa ;  I  even  penetrated  as  far  as  the  orangery  in  my 
capacity  of  traveller,  —  the  whole  a  perfect  Paradise.  I  'm 
not  sure  I  did  not  get  a  peep  at  Eve  herself,  —  at  a  distance, 
however.  I  made  great  efforts  to  obtain  an  interview,  but 
all  unsuccessfully.  The  police  authorities  managed  to  sum- 
mon two  of  the  servants  to  the  Podesta,  on  pretence  of  some 
irregularity  in  their  papers,  but  we  obtained  nothing  out  of 
them ;  and,  what  is  mOre,  I  saw  clearly  that  nothing  could 
be  effected  by  a  coup  de  main.  The  place  requires  a  long 
siege,  and  I  had  not  time  for  that." 

"  Did  you  see  Wahnsdorf  ?  " 

"Yes;  I  had  him  to  dinner  with  me  alone  at  the  hotel, 
for,  to  avoid  all  observation,  I  only  went  to  the  Palace  after 
nightfall.  He  confessed  all  his  sins  to  me,  and,  like  every 
other  scapegrace,  thought  marriage  was  a  grand  absolution 
for  past  wickedness.  He  told  me,  too,  how  he  made  the 
acquaintance  of  these  strangers.  They  were  crossing  the 
Magra  with  their  carriage  on  a  raft,  when  the  cable  snapped, 
and  they  were  all  carried  down  the  torrent.  He  happened 
to  be  a  passenger  at  the  time,  and  did  something  very  heroic, 
I  Ve  no  doubt,  but  I  cannot  exactly  remember  what ;  but  it 
amounted  to  either  being,  or  being  supposed  to  be,  their 
deliverer.  He  thus  obtained  leave  to  pay  his  respects  at  the 
villa.  But  even  this  gratitude  was  very  measured ;  they 
only  admitted  him  at  rare  inten^als,  and  for  a  very  brief 
visit.  In  fact,  it  was  plain  he  had  to  deal  with  consummate 
tacticians,  who  turned  the  mystery  of  their  seclusion  and 
the  honor  vouchsafed  him  to  an  ample  profit." 
"  He  told  them  his  name  and  his  rank?  " 
"Yes;  and  he  owned  that  they  did  not  seem  at  all  im- 
pressed by  the  revelation.  He  describes  them  as  very 
haughty,    very    condescending    in    manner,     tres   grandes 


HOW  A  "RECEPTION"  COMES  TO  ITS  CLOSE.       185 

dames,  in  fact,  but  unquestionably  bom  to  tiie  class  they 
represent.  They  never  dropped  a  hint  of  whence  they  had 
come,  or  any  cucumstance  of  their  past  lives,  but  seemed 
entirely  engrossed  by  the  present,  which  they  spent  princi- 
pally in  cultivating  the  arts ;  they  both  drew  admirably,  and 
the  young  lady  had  become  a  most  skilful  modellist  in  clay, 
her  whole  day  being  passed  in  a  studio  which  they  had  just 
built.  I  urged  him  strongly  to  try  and  obtain  permission 
for  me  to  see  it,  but  he  assured  me  it  was  hopeless, — the 
request  might  even  endanger  his  own  position  with  them. 

"  I  could  perceive  that,  though  very  much  in  love,  Wahns- 
dorf  was  equally  taken  with  the  romance  of  this  adventure. 
He  had  never  been  a  hero  to  himself  before,  and  he  was 
perfectly  enchanted  by"  the  novelty  of  the  sensation.  He 
never  affected  to  say  that  he  had  made  the  least  impression 
on  the  young  lady's  heart ;  but  he  gave  me  to  understand 
that  the  nephew  of  an  Emperor  need  not  trouble  his  head 
much  on  that  score.  He  is  a  very  good-looking,  well- 
mannered,  weak  boy,  who,  if  he  only  reach  the  age  of  thirty 
without  some  great  blunder,  will  pass  for  a  very  dignified 
Prince  for  the  rest  of  his  life." 

*'  Did  you  give  him  any  hopes?  " 

"  Of  course,  if  he  only  promised  to  follow  my  counsels; 
and  as  these  same  counsels  are  yet  in  the  oven,  he  must 
needs  wait  for  them.  In  a  word,  he  is  to  write  to  me  every- 
thing, and  I  to  him ;  and  so  we  parted." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  these  people,"  said  Upton,  lan- 
guidly. 

"I'm  sure  of  it,"  rejoined  she;  ''but  it  is  perhaps  un- 
necessary ;  "  and  there  was  that  in  the  tone  which  made  the 
words  very  significant. 

"Chelmsford  —  he's  now  Secretary  at  Turin  —  might 
perhaps  trace  them,"  said  he;  "he  always  knows  every- 
thing of  those  people  who  are  secrets  to  the  rest  of  the 
world." 

"  For  the  present,  I  am  disposed  to  think  it  were  better 
not  to  direct  attention  towards  them,"  replied  she.  "  What 
we  do  here  must  be  done  adroitly,  and  in  such  a  way 
as  that  it  can  be  disavowed  if  necessary,  or  abandoned  if 
unsuccessful." 


186        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

''  Said  with  all  your  own  tact,  Princess,"  said  Sir  Horace, 
smiling.  "I  can  perceive,  however,  that  you  have  a  plan 
in  your  head  already.     Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"No,"  said  she,  with  a  faint  sigh;  "I  took  wonderfully 
little  interest  in  the  affair.  It  was  one  of  those  games  where 
the  combinations  are  so  few  you  don't  condescend  to  learn 
It.     Are  you  aware  of  the  hour?  " 

"  Actually  three  o'clock,"  said  he,  standing  up.  "  Really, 
Princess,  I  am  quite  shocked." 

"And  so  am  I,"  said  she,  smiling;  "on  se  compromet 
si  facilement  dans  ce  has  monde.  Good  night."  And  she 
courtesied  and  withdrew  before  he  had  time  to  take  his  hat 
and  retire. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  DUKE   AND   HIS   MINISTER. 

In  this  age  of  the  world,  when  everybody  has  been  every- 
where, seen  everything,  and  talked  with  everybody,  it  may 
savor  of  an  impertinence  if  we  ask  of  our  reader  if  he  has 
ever  been  at  Massa.  It  may  so  chance  that  he  has  not, 
and,  if  so,  as  assuredly  has  he  yet  an  untasted  pleasure 
before  him. 

Now,  to  be  sure,  Massa  is  not  as  it  once  was.  The  little 
Duchy,  whose  capital  it  formed,  has  been  united  to  a  larger 
state.  The  distinctive  features  of  a  metropolis,  and  the 
residence  of  a  sovereign  prince,  are  gone.  The  life  and 
stir  and  animation  which  surround  a  court  have  subsided ; 
grass-grown  streets  and  deserted  squares  replace  the  busy 
movement  of  former  days ;  a  dreamy  weariness  seems  to 
have  fallen  over  every  one,  as  though  life  offered  no  more 
prizes  for  exertion,  and  that  the  day  of  ambition  was  set 
forever.  Yet  are  there  features  about  the  spot  which  all 
the  chances  and  changes  of  political  fortune  cannot  touch. 
Dynasties  may  fall,  and  thrones  crumble,  but  the  eternal 
Apennines  will  still  rear  their  snow-clad  summits  towards 
the  sky.  Along  the  vast  plain  of  ancient  olives  the  per- 
fumed wind  will  still  steal  at  evening,  and  the  blue  waters 
of  the  Mediterranean  plash  lazily  among  the  rocks,  over 
which  the  myrtle  and  the  arbutus  are  hanging.  There, 
amidst  them  all,  half  hid  in  clustering  vines,  bathed  in  soft 
odors  from  orange-groves,  with  plashing  fountains  glitter- 
ing in  the  sun,  and  foaming  streams  gushing  from  the  sides 
of  marble  mountains,  —  there  stands  Massa,  ruined,  de- 
cayed, and  deserted,  but  beautiful  in  all  its  desolation, 
and  fairer  to  gaze  on  than  many  a  scene  where  the  tide  of 
human  fortune  is  at  the  flood. 

As  you  wander  there  now,  passing  the  deep  arch  over 
which,    hundreds   of  feet  above  you,  the   ancient   fortress 


188        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

frowns,  and  enter  the  silent  streets,  you  would  find  it  some- 
what difficult  to  believe  how,  a  very  few  years  back,  this 
was  the  brilliant  residence  of  a  court,  —  the  gay  resort  of 
strangers  from  every  land  of  Europe,  —  that  showy  equi- 
pages traversed  these  weed-grown  squares,  and  highborn 
dames  swept  proudly  beneath  these  leafy  alleys.  Hard, 
indeed,  to  fancy  the  glittering  throng  of  courtiers,  the 
merry  laughter  of  light-hearted  beauty,  beneath  these  trel- 
lised  shades,  where,  moodily  and  slow,  some  solitary  figure 
now  steals  along,  "  pondering  sad  thoughts  over  the 
bygone !  " 

But  a  few,  a  very  few  years  ago,  and  Massa  was  in  the 
plenitude  of  its  prosperity.  The  revenues  of  the  state 
were  large,  —  more  than  sufficient  to  have  maintained  all 
that  such  a  city  could  require,  and  nearly  enough  to  gratify 
every  caprice  of  a  prince  whose  costly  tastes  ranged  over 
every  theme,  and  found  in  each  a  pretext  for  reckless  ex- 
penditure. He  was  one  of  those  men  whom  Nature,  having 
gifted  largely,  "  takes  out"  the  compensation  by  a  disposi- 
tion of  instability  and  fickleness  that  renders  every  acquire- 
ment valueless.  He  could  have  been  anything, — orator, 
poet,  artist,  soldier,  statesman ;  and  yet,  in  the  very  diver- 
sity of  his  abilities  there  was  that  want  of  fixity  of  purpose 
that  left  him  ever  short  of  success,  till  he  himself,  wearied 
by  repeated  failures,  distrusted  his  own  powers,  and  ceased 
to  exert  them. 

Such  a  man,  under  the  hard  pressure  of  a  necessity,  might 
have  done  great  things  ;  as  it  was,  born  to  a  princely  station, 
and  with  a  vast  fortune,  he  became  a  reckless  spendthrift,  — 
a  dreamy  visionary  at  one  time,  an  enthusiastic  dilettante 
at  another.  There  was  not  a  scheme  of  government  he  had 
not  eagerly  embraced  and  abandoned  in  turn.  He  had 
attracted  to  his  little  capital  all  that  Europe  could  boast  of 
artistic  excellence,  and  as  suddenly  he  had  thrown  himself 
into  the  most  intolerant  zeal  of  Papal  persecution,  —  de- 
nouncing every  species  of  pleasure,  and  ordaining  a  more 
than  monastic  self-denial  and  strictness.  There  was  only 
one  mode  of  calculating  what  he  might  be,  which  was,  by 
imagining  the  very  opposite  to  what  he  then  was.  Extremes 
were  his  delight,  and  he  undulated  between  Austrian  tyranny 


A  DUKE  AND   HIS   MINISTER.  189 

and  democratic  licentiousness  in  politics,  just  as  he  vacil- 
lated between  the  darkest  bigotry  of  his  church  and  open 
infidelity. 

At  the  time  when  we  desire  to  present  him  to  our  readers 
(the  exact  year  is  not  material) ,  he  was  fast  beginning  to 
weary  of  an  interregnum  of  asceticism  and  severity.  He 
had  closed  theatres,  and  suppressed  all  public  rejoicings ; 
and  for  an  entire  winter  he  had  sentenced  his  faithful  sub- 
jects to  the  unbroken  sway  of  the  Priest  and  the  Friar,  —  a 
species  of  rule  which  had  banished  all  strangers  from  the 
Duchy,  and  threatened,  by  the  injury  to  trade,  the  direst 
consequences  to  his  capital.  To  have  brought  the  question 
formally  before  him  in  all  its  details  would  have  ensured  the 
downfall  of  any  minister  rash  enough  for  such  daring. 
There  was,  indeed,  but  one  man  about  the  court  who  had 
courage  for  the  enterprise ;  and  to  him  we  would  devote  a 
few  lines  as  we  pass.  He  was  an  Englishman,  named 
Stubber.  He  had  originally  come  out  to  Italy  with  horses 
for  his  Highness,  and  been  induced,  by  good  offers  of 
employment,  to  remain.  He  was  not  exactly  stable-groom, 
nor  trainer,  nor  was  he  of  the  dignity  of  master  of  the 
stables ;  but  he  was  something  whose  attributes  included 
a  little  of  all,  and  something  more.  One  thing  he  as- 
suredly was,  —  a  consummately  clever  fellow,  who  could 
apply  all  his  native  Yorkshke  shrewdness  to  a  new  sphere, 
and  make  of  his  homespun  faculties  the  keen  intelligence 
by  which  he  could  guide  himself  in  novel  and  difficult 
circumstances. 

A  certain  freedom  of  speech,  with  a  bold  hardihood  of 
character,  based,  it  is  true,  upon  a  conscious  sense  of  honor, 
had  brought  him  more  than  once  under  the  notice  of  the 
Prince.  His  Highness  felt  such  pleasure  in  the  outspoken 
frankness  of  the  man  that  he  frequently  took  opportunities 
of  conversing  with  him,  and  even  asking  his  advice.  Never 
deterred  by  the  subject,  whatever  it  was,  Stubber  spoke  out 
his  mind ;  and  by  the  very  force  of  strong  native  sense,  and 
an  unswerving  power  of  determination,  soon  impressed  his 
master  that  his  best  counsels  were  to  be  had  from  the  York- 
shire jockey,  and  not  from  the  decorated  and  gilded  throng 
who  filled  the  antechambers. 


190        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

To  elevate  the  groom  to  the  rank  of  personal  attendant, 
to  create  him  a  Chevalier,  and  then  a  Count,  were  all  easy 
steps  to  such  a  Prince.  At  the  time  we  speak  of,  Stubber 
was  chief  of  the  Cabinet,  —  the  trusted  adviser  of  his  master 
in  knottiest  questions  of  foreign  politics,  the  arbiter  of  the 
most  difficult  points  with  other  states,  the  highest  authority 
in  home  affairs,  and  the  absolute  ruler  over  the  Duke's  house- 
hold and  all  who  belonged  to  it.  He  was  one  of  those  men 
of  action  who  speedily  distinguish  themselves  wherever  the 
game  of  life  is  being  played.  Smart  to  discern  the  character 
of  those  around  him,  prompt  to  avail  himself  of  their  knowl- 
edge, little  hampered  by  the  scruples  which  conventionali- 
ties impose  on  men  bred  in  a  higher  station,  he  generally 
attained  his  object  before  others  had  arranged  their  plans  to 
oppose  him.  To  these  qualities  he  added  a  rugged,  unflinch- 
ing honesty,  and  a  loyal  attachment  to  the  person  of  his 
Prince.  Strong  in  his  own  conscious  rectitude,  and  in  the 
confiding  regard  of  his  sovereign,  Stubber  stood  alone  against 
all  the  wiles  and  machinations  of  his  formidable  rivals. 

Were  we  giving  a  history  of  this  curious  court  and  its 
intrigues,  we  could  relate  some  strange  stories  of  the 
mechanism  by  which  states  are  ruled.  We  have,  however, 
no  other  business  with  the  subject  than  as  it  enters  into  the 
domain  of  our  own  story,  and  to  this  we  return. 

It  was  a  calm  evening  of  the  early  autumn,  as  the  Prince, 
accompanied  by  Stubber  alone,  and  unattended  by  even  a 
groom,  rode  along  one  of  the  alleys  of  the  olive  wood  which 
skirts  the  sea-shore  beneath  Massa.  His  Highness  was 
umisually  moody  and  thoughtful,  and  as  he  sauntered  care- 
lessly along,  seemed  scarcely  to  notice  the  objects  about  him. 

"  What  month  are  we  in,  Stubber?  "  asked  he,  at  length. 

*'  September,  Altezza,"  was  the  short  reply. 

"  Per  Bacco  !  so  it  is;  and  in  this  very  month  we  were 
to  have  been  in  Bohemia  with  the  Archduke  Stephen,  — 
the  best  shooting  in  all  Europe,  and  the  largest  stock  of 
pheasants  in  the  whole  world,  perhaps ;  and  I,  that  love 
field-sports  as  no  man  ever  loved  them!  Eh,  Stubber?" 
and  he  turned  abruptly  round  to  seek  a  confirmation  of 
what  he  asserted.  Either  Stubber  did  not  fully  agree  in  the 
judgment,  or  did  not  deem  it  necessary  to  record  his  con- 


A  DUKE  AND  HIS  MINISTER.  191 

currence ;  but  the  Prince  was  obliged  to  reiterate  his  state- 
ment, adding,  ''I  might  say,  indeed,  it  is  the  one  solitary 
dissipation  I  have  ever  permitted  myself." 

Now,  this  was  a  stereotyped  phrase  of  his  Highness,  and 
employed  by  him  respecting  music,  literature,  field-sports, 
picture-buying,  equipage,  play,  and  a  number  of  other  pur- 
suits not  quite  so  pardonable,  in  each  of  which,  for  the  time, 
his  zeal  would  seem  to  be  exclusive. 

A  scarcely  audible  ejaculation  —  a  something  like  a  grunt 
—  from  Stubber,  was  the  only  assent  to  this  proposition. 

''And  here  I  am,"  added  the  Prince,  testily,  ''the  only 
man  of  my  rank  in  Europe,  perhaps,  without  society,  amuse- 
ment, or  pleasure,  condemned  to  the  wearisome  details  of  a 
petty  administration,  and  actually  a  slave,  —  yes,  sir,  I  say, 
a  slave —  What  the  deuce  is  this?  My  horse  is  sinking 
above  his  pasterns.  Where  are  we,  Stubber?"  and  with  a 
vigorous  dash  of  the  spurs  he  exti'icated  himself  from  the 
deep  ground. 

"  I  often  told  your  Highness  that  these  lands  were  ruined 
for  want  of  drainage.  You  may  remark  how  poor  the  trees 
are  along  here ;  the  fruit,  too,  is  all  deteriorated,  —  all  for 
want  of  a  little  skill  and  industry.  And,  if  your  Highness 
remarked  the  appearance  of  the  people  in  that  village,  every 
second  man  has  the  ague  on  him." 

"They  did  look  very  wretched.  And  why  is  it  not 
drained  ?  Why  is  n't  everything  done  as  it  ought,  Stubber, 
eh?" 

"  Why  is  n't  your  Highness  in  Bohemia?  " 

"Want  of  means,  my  good  Stubber;  no  money.  My 
man,  Landelli,  tells  me  the  coffer  is  empty ;  and  until  this 
new  tax  on  the  Colza  comes  in,  we  shall  have  to  live  on  our 
credit  or  our  wits,  — I  forget  which,  but  I  conclude  they  are 
about  equally  productive." 

"Landelli  is  a  ladro"  said  Stubber.  "He  has  money 
enough  to  build  a  new  wing  to  his  chateau  in  Serravezza, 
and  to  give  fifty  thousand  scudi  of  fortune  to  his  daughter, 
though  he  can't  afford  your  Highness  the  common  necessa- 
ries of  your  station." 

"  Pe/  Bacco!  Billy,  you  are  right;  you  must  look  into 
these  accounts  yourself.     They  always  confuse  me." 


192         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 


li 


I  have  looked  into  them,  and  your  Highness  shall  have 
two  hundred  thousand  francs  to-morrow  on  your  dressing- 
table,  and  as  much  more  within  the  week." 

"Well  done,  Billy!  you  are  the  only  fellow  who  can  un- 
mask these  rogueries.  If  I  had  only  had  you  with  me  long 
ago  !  Well !  well !  well !  it  is  too  late  to  think  of  it.  What 
shall  we  do  with  this  money  ?  Bohemia  is  out  of  the  ques- 
tion now.  Shall  we  rebuild  the  San  Felice  ?  It  is  really  too 
small;  the  stage  is  crowded  with  twenty  people  on  it. 
There's  that  gate  towards  Carrara,  when  is  it  to  be  com- 
pleted? There's  a  figure  wanted  for  the  centre  pedestal. 
As  for  the  fountain,  it  must  be  done  by  the  municipality.  It 
is  essentially  the  interest  of  the  townspeople.  You  'd  advise 
me  to  spend  the  money  in  draining  these  low  lands,  or  in  a 
grant  to  that  new  company  for  a  pier  at  Marina ;  but  I  '11 
not ;  I  have  other  thoughts  in  my  head.  Why  should  not 
this  be  the  centre  of  ai-t  to  the  whole  Peninsula  ?  Carrara  is  a 
city  of  sculptors.  Why  not  concentrate  their  efforts  here  — 
by  a  gallery  ?  I  have  myself  some  glorious  things,  —  the  best 
group  Canova  ever  modelled  ;  the  original  Ariadne  too,  —  far 
finer  than  the  thing  people  go  to  see  at  Frankfort.  Then 
there 's  Tanderini's  Shepherd  with  the  Goats.  —  Who  lives 
yonder,  Stubber?  What  a  beautiful  garden  it  is  !  "  And  he 
drew  up  short  in  front  of  a  villa  whose  grounds  were  ter- 
raced in  a  succession  of  gardens  down  to  the  very  margin 
of  the  sea.  Plants  and  shrubs  of  other  climates  were  min- 
gled with  those  familiar  to  Italy,  making  up  a  picture  of 
singular  beauty,  by  diversity  of  color  and  foliage.  "Isn't 
this  the  'Ombretta,'  Stubber?" 

"Yes,  Altezza;  but  the  Morelli  have  left  it.  It  is  let 
now  to  a  stranger,  —  a  French  lady.  Some  call  her  English, 
I  believe." 

"To  be  sure ;  I  remember.  There  was  a  demand  about 
a  formal  permission  to  reside  here.  Landelli  advised  me 
not  to  sign  it,  —  that  she  might  turn  out  English,  or  have 
some  claim  upon  England,  which  was  quite  equivalent  to 
placing  the  Duchy,  and  all  within  it,  under  that  blessed 
thing  they  call  British  protection." 

"There  are  worse  things  than  even  that,"  muttered 
Stubber. 


A  DUKE  AND  HIS  MINISTER.  193 

''  British  occupation,  perhaps  you  mean ;  well,  you  may  be 
right.  At  all  events,  I  did  not  take  Landelli's  advice,  for  I 
gave  the  permission,  and  I  have  never  heard  more  of  her. 
She  must  be  rich,  I  take  it.  See  what  order  this  place  is 
kept  in;  that  conservatory  is  very  large  indeed,  and  the 
orange- trees  are  finer  than  ours." 

"  They  seem  very  fine  indeed,"  said  Stubber. 

"I  say,  sir,  that  we  have  none  such  at  the  Palace.  I'll 
wager  a  zecchino  they  have  come  from  Naples.  And  look 
at  that  magnolia :  I  tell  you,  Stubber,  this  garden  is  very  far 
superior  to  ours." 

''Your  Highness  has  not  been  in  the  Palace  gardens 
lately,  perhaps.  I  was  there  this  morning,  and  they  are 
really  in  admirable   order." 

"  I'll  have  a  peep  inside  of  these  grounds,  Stubber,"  said 
the  Duke,  who,  no  longer  attentive  to  the  other,  only  fol- 
lowed out  his  own  train  of  thought.  At  the  same  instant  he 
dismounted,  and,  without  giving  himself  any  trouble  about 
his  horse,  made  straight  for  a  small  wicket  which  lay  invit- 
ingly open  in  front  of  him.  The  narrow  skirting  of  copse 
passed,  the  Duke  at  once  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  a 
lovely  garden,  laid  out  with  consummate  skill  and  taste,  and 
offering  at  intei-vals  the  most  beautiful  views  of  the  surround- 
ing scenery.  Although  much  of  what  he  beheld  around  him 
was  the  work  of  many  years,  there  were  abundant  traces  of 
innovation  and  improvement.  Some  of  the  statues  were 
recently  placed,  and  a  small  temple  of  Grecian  architecture 
seemed  to  have  been  just  restored.  A  heavy  curtain  hung 
across  the  doorway  ;  drawing  back  which,  the  Duke  entered 
what  he  at  once  perceived  to  be  a  sculptor's  studio.  Casts 
and  models  lay  carelessly  about,  and  a  newly  begun  group 
stood  enshrouded  in  the  wetted  drapery  with  which  artists 
clothe  their  unfinished  labors.  No  mean  artist  himself,  the 
Duke  examined  critically  the  figures  before  him;  nor  was 
he  long  in  perceiving  that  the  artist  had  committed  more 
than  one  fault  in  drawing  and  proportion.  "This  is 
amateur  work,"  said  he  to  himself;  "and  yet  not  without 
cleverness,  and  a  touch  of  genius  too.  Your  dilettante 
scorns  anatomy,  and  will  not  submit  to  drudgery ;  hence, 
here  are  muscles  incorrectly  developed,  and  their  action  ill 

13 


194        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

expressed."  So  saying,  he  sat  down  before  the  model,  and 
taking  up  one  of  the  tools  at  his  side,  began  to  correct  some 
of  the  errors  in  the  work.  It  was  exactly  the  kind  of  task 
for  which  his  skill  adapted  him.  Too  impatient  and  too 
discursive  to  accomplish  anything  of  his  own,  he  was  admir- 
ably fitted  to  correct'  the  faults  of  another,  and  so  he  worked 
away  vigorously,  —  totally  forgetting  where  he  was,  how  he 
had  come  there,  and  as  utterly  oblivious  of  Stubber,  whom 
he  had  left  without.  Growing  more  and  more  interested 
as  he  proceeded,  he  arose  at  length  to  take  a  better  view 
of  what  he  had  done,  and,  standing  some  distance  off, 
exclaimed  aloud,  "  Per  Bacco  !  I  have  made  a  good  thing  of 
it  —  there 's  life  in  it  now !  " 

''So  indeed  is  there,"  cried  a  gentle  voice  behind  him; 
ahd,  turning,  he  beheld  a  young  and  very  beautiful  girl, 
whose  dress  was  covered  by  the  loose  blouse  of  a  sculptor. 
"  How  I  thank  you  for  this !  "  said  she,  blushing  deeply,  as 
she  courtesied  before  him.  ''I  have  had  no  teaching,  and 
never  till  this  moment  knew  how  much  I  needed   it." 

"And  this  is  your  work,  then?"  said  the  Duke,  who 
turned  again  towards  the  model.  ' '  Well,  there  is  promise 
in  it.  There  is  even  more.  Still,  you  have  hard  labor 
before  you,  if  you  would  be  really  an  artist.  There  is  a 
grammar  in  these  things,  and  he  who  would  speak  the 
tongue  must  get  over  the  declensions.  I  know  but  little 
myself  —  " 

"  Oh,  do  not  say  so !  "  cried  she,  eagerly ;  "I  feel  that  I 
am  in.  a  master's  presence." 

The  Duke  started,  partly  struck  by  the  energy  of  her 
manner,  in  part  by  the  words  themselves.  It  is  often  diffi- 
cult for  men  in  his  station  to  believe  that  they  are  not  known 
and  recognized;  and  so  he  stood  wondering  at  her,  and 
thinking  who  she  could  be  that  did  not  know  him  to  be  the 
Prince.  "  You  mistake  me,"  said  he,  gently,  and  with  that 
dignity  which  is  the  birthright  of  those  born  to  command. 
"  I  am  but  a  very  indifferent  artist.  I  have  studied  a  little, 
it  is  true ;  but  other  pursuits  and  idleness  have  swept  away 
the  small  knowledge  I  once  possessed,  and  left  me;  as  to 
art,  pretty  much  as  I  am  in  morals,  —  that  is,  I  know  what 
is  right,  but  very  often  I  can't  accomplish  it." 


A  DUKE  AND  HIS  MINISTER.  195 

"You  are  from  Carrara,  I  conclude?"  said  the  young 
girl,  timidly,  still  curious  to  hear  more  about  him. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  he,  smiling;  "I  am  a  native  of 
Massa,  and  live  here." 

"  And  are  you  not  a  sculptor  by  profession? ''  asked  she, 
still  more  eagerly. 

"No,"  said  he,  laughing  pleasantly;  "I  follow  a  more 
precarious  trade,  nor  can  I  mould  the  clay  I  work  in  so 
deftly." 

"At  least  you  love  art,"  said  she,  with  an  enthusiasm 
heightened  by  the  changes  he  had  effected  in  her  group. 

"Now  it  is  my  turn  to  question,  Signorina,"  said  he,, 
gayly.  "  "Why,  with  a  talent  like  yours,  have  you  not  given 
yourself  to  regular  study  ?  You  live  in  a  land  where  instruc- 
tion should  not  be  difficult  to  obtain.  Carrara  is  one  va^t 
studio ;  there  must  be  many  there  who  would  not  alone  be 
willing,  but  even  proud,  to  have  such  a  pupil.  Have  you 
never  thought  of  this?" 

"I  have  thought  of  it,"  said ^ she,  pensively,  "  but  my 
aunt,  with  whom  I  live,  desires  to  see  no  one,  to  know  no 
one; — even  now,"  added  she,  blushing  deeply,  "I  find 
myself  conversing  with  an  utter  stranger,  in  a  way  — " 
She  stopped,  overwhelmed  with  confusion,  and  he  finished 
her  sentence  for  her. 

"In  a  way  which  shows  how  naturally  a  love  of  art 
establishes  a  confidence  between  those  who  profess  it." 
As  he  spoke,  the  curtain  was  drawn  back,  and  a  lady 
entered,  who,  though  several  years  older,  bore  such  a  likeness 
to  the  young  girl  that  she  might  readily  have  been  taken  for 
her  sister. 

"It  is  at  length  time  I  should  make  my  excuses  for  this 
intrusion,  madame,"  said  he,  turning  towards  her;  and  then 
in  a  few  words  explained  how  the  accidental  passing  by  the 
spot,  and  the  temptation  of  the  open  wicket,  had  led  him  to 
a  trespass,  "which,"  added  he,  smiling,  "  I  can  only  say  I 
shall  be  charmed  if  you  will  condescend  to  retaliate.  I,  too, 
have  some  objects  of  art,  and  gardens  which  are  thought 
worthy  of  a  visit." 

"  We  live  here,  sir,  apart  from  the  world.  It  is  for  that 
reason  we  have  selected  this  residence,"  replied  she,  coldly. 


196        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"  I  shall  respect  your  seclusion,  madame,"  answered  he, 
with  a  deep  bow,  "  and  only  beg  once  more  to  tender  my 
sincere  apologies  for  the  past."  He  moved  towards  the 
door  as  he  spoke,  the  ladies  courtesied  deeply,  and,  with  a 
still  lowlier  reverence,  he  passed  out. 

The  Duke  lingered  in  the  garden,  as  though  unwilling  to 
leave  the  spot.  For  a  while  some  doubt  as  to  whether 
he  had  been  recognized  passed  through  his  mind,  but  he 
soon  satisfied  himself  that  such  was  not  the  case,  and  the 
singularity  of  the  situation  amused  him. 

"  I  am  culling  a  souvenir,  madame,"  said  he,  plucking  a 
moss-ross  as  the  lady  passed. 

''  I  will  give  you  a  better  one,  sir,*'  said  she,  detaching 
one  from  her  bouquet,  and  handing  it  to  him.  And  so  they 
parted. 

''''Per  Bacco  !  Stubber,  I  have  seen  two  very  charming 
women.  They  are  evidently  persons  of  condition ;  find  out 
all  about  them,  and  let  me  hear  it  to-morrow."  And  so  say- 
ing, his  Highness  rode  away,  thinking  pleasantly  over  his 
adventure,  and  fancying  a  hundred  ways  in  which  it  might 
be  amusingly  carried  out.  The  life  of  princes  is  rarely 
fertile  in  surprises ;  perhaps,  therefore,  the  uncommon  and 
unusual  are  the  pleasantest  of  all  their  sensations. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

ITALIAN   TROUBLES. 

Stubber  knew  his  master  well.  There  was  no  need  for  any 
"perquisitions"  on  his  part;  the  ladies,  the  studio,  and  the 
garden  were  totally  forgotten  ere  nightfall.  Some  rather 
alarming  intelligence  had  arrived  from  Carrara,  which  had 
quite  obliterated  every  memory  of  his  late  adventure.  That 
little  town  of  artists  had  long  been  the  resort  of  an  excited 
class  of  politicians,  and  it  was  more  than  rumored  that  the 
"Carbonari"  had  established  there  a  lodge  of  their  order. 
Inflammatory  placards  had  been  posted  through  the  town  — 
violent  denunciations  of  the  Government  —  vengeance,  even 
on  the  head  of  the  sovereign,  openly  proclaimed,  and  a 
speedy  day  promised  when  the  wrongs  of  an  enslaved  people 
should  be  avenged  in  blood.  The  messenger  who  brought 
the  alarming  tidings  to  Massa  carried  with  him  many  of  the 
inflammatory  documents,  as  well  as  several  knives  and 
poniards,  discovered  by  the  activity  of  the  police  in  a  ruined 
building  at  the  sea-shore.  No  arrests  had  as  yet  been  made, 
but  the  authorities  were  in  possession  of  information  with 
regard  to  various  suspicious  characters,  and  the  police  pre- 
pared to  act  at  a  moment's  notice. 

It  was  an  hour  after  midnight  when  the  Council  met ;  and 
the  Duke  sat,  pale,  agitated,  and  terrified,  at  the  table,  with 
Landelli,  the  Prime  Minister,  Caprini,  the  Secretary  for 
Foreign  Affairs,  and  General  Ferrucio,  the  War  Minister ;  a 
venerable  ecclesiastic,  Monsignore  Abbati,  occupying  the 
lowest  place,  in  virtue  of  his  humble  station  as  confessor  of 
his  Highness.  He  who  of  all  others  enjoyed  his  master's 
confidence,  and  whose  ready  intelligence  was  most  needed  in 
the  emergency,  was  not  present ;  his  title  of  Minister  of  the 
Household  not  qualifying  him  for  a  place  at  the  Council. 


198        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

Whatever  the  result,  the  deliberation  was  a  long  one. 
Even  while  it  continued,  there  was  time  to  despatch  a  courier 
to  Carrara,  and  receive  the  answer  he  brought  back ;  and 
when  the  Duke  returned  to  his  room,  it  was  already  far 
advanced  in  the  morning.  Fatigued  and  harassed,  he  dis- 
missed his  valet  at  once,  and  desired  that  Stubber  might 
attend  him.  When  he  arrived,  however,  his  Highness  had 
fallen  off  asleep,  and  lay,  dressed  as  he  was,  on  his  bed. 

Stubber  sat  noiselessly  beside  his  master,  his  mind  deeply 
pondering  over  the  events  which,  although  he  had  not  been 
present  at  the  Council,  had  all  been  related  to  him.  It  was 
not  the  first  time  he  had  heard  of  that  formidable  con- 
spiracy, which,  under  the  title  of  the  Carbonari,  had  estab- 
lished themselves  in  every  corner  of  Europe. 

In  the  days  of  his  humbler  fortune  he  had  known  several 
of  them  intimately ;  he  had  been  often  solicited  to  join  their 
band ;  but  while  steadily  refusing  this,  he  had  detected 
much  which  to  his  keen  intelligence  savored  of  treachery  to 
the  cause  amongst  them.  This  cause  was  necessarily  re- 
cruited from  those  whose  lives  rejected  all  honest  and  patient 
labor.  They  were  the  disappointed  men  of  every  station, 
from  the  highest  to  the  lowest.  The  ruined  gentleman,  the 
beggared  noble  ,  the  bankrupt  trader,  the  houseless  artisan, 
the  homeless  vagabond,  were  all  there ;  bold,  daring,  and 
energetic,  fearless  as  to  the  present,  reckless  as  to  the  future. 
They  sought  for  any  change,  no  matter  what,  seeing  that  in 
the  convulsion  their  own  condition  must  be  bettered.  Few 
troubled  their  heads  how  these  changes  were  to  be  accom- 
plished; they  cared  little  for  the  real  grievances  they  as- 
sumed to  redress :  their  work  was  demolition.  It  was  to 
the  hour  of  pillage  alone  they  looked  for  the  recompense  of 
their  hardihood.  Some,  unquestionably,  took  a  different 
view  of  the  agencies  and  the  objects ;  dreamy,  speculative 
men,  with  high  aspirations,  hoped  that  the  cruel  wrongs 
which  tyranny  inflicted  on  many  a  European  state  might  be 
effectually  curbed  by  a  glorious  freedom,  when  each  man's 
actions  should  be  made  comformable  to  the  benefit  of  the 
community,  and  the  will  of  all  be  typified  in  the  conduct  oi 
each.  There  was,  however,  another  class,  and  to  these 
Stubber  had  given  deep  attention.     It  was  a  party  whose 


ITALIAN  TROUBLES.  199 

singular  activity  and  energy  were  always  in  the  ascendant,  — 
ever  suggesting  bold  measures  whose  results  could  scarcely 
be  more  than  menaces,  and  advocating  actions  whose  great- 
est effect  could  not  rise  above  acts  of  terror  and  dismay. 
And  thus  while  the  leaders  plotted  great  political  convul- 
sions, and  the  masses  dreamed  of  sack  and  pillage,  these 
latter  dealt  in  acts  of  assassination,  —  the  vengeance  of  the 
poniard  and  the  poison-cup.  These  were  the  men  Stubber 
had  studied  with  no  common  attention.  He  fancied  he  saw  in 
them  neither  the  dupes  of  their  own  excited  imaginations,  nor 
the  reckless  followers  of  rapine,  but  an  order  of  men  equal 
to  the  former  by  intelligence,  but  far  transcending  the  last  in 
crime  and  infamy.  In  his  own  early  experiences  he  had 
perceived  that  more  than  one  of  these  had  expatriated  them- 
selves suddenly,  carrying  away  to  foreign  shores  consider- 
able wealth,  and,  that,  too,  under  circumstances  where  the 
acquisition  of  property  seemed  scarcely  possible.  Others 
he  had  seen  as  suddenly,  throwing  off  their  political  asso- 
ciates, rise  into  stations  of  rank  and  power ;  and  one  mem- 
orable case  he  knew  where  the  individual  had  become  the 
chief  adviser  of  the  very  state  whose  destruction  he  had 
sworn  to  accomplish.  Such  a  one  he  now  fancied  he  had 
detected  among  the  advisers  of  his  Prince ;  and  deeply  rumi- 
nating on  this  theme,  he  sat  at  the  bedside. 

"Is  it  a  dream,  Stubber,  or  have  we  really  heard  bad 
news  from  Carrara?     Has  Fraschetti  been  stabbed,  or  not?" 

''  Yes,  your  Highness,  he  has  been  stabbed  exactly  two 
inches  below  where  he  was  wounded  in  September  last,  — 
then,  it  was  his  pocket-book  saved  him ;  now,  it  was  your 
Highness's  picture,  which,  like  a  faithful  follower,  he  always 
carried  about  him." 

*'  Which  means,  that  you"  disbelieve  the  whole  story." 

"  Every  word  of  it." 

"  And  the  poniards  found  at  the  Bocca  di  Magra?  " 

"  Found  by  those  who  placed  them  there." 

''  And  the  proclamations?  " 

"Blundering  devices.  See,  here  is  one  ol  them,  printed 
on  the  very  paper  supplied  to  the  Government  offices. 
There 's  the  water-mark,  with  the  crown  and  your  own 
cipher  on  it." 


200        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

**  Per  Bacco!  so  it  is.     Let  me  show  this  to  Landelli." 

*'Wait  awhile,  your  Highness;  let  us  trace  this  a  little 
farther.     No  arrests  have  been  made  ?  " 

*'None." 

''Nor  will  any.  The  object  in  view  is  already  gained; 
they  have  terrified  you,  and  secured  the  next  move." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

''  Simply,  that  they  have  persuaded  you  that  this  state 
is  the  hotbed  of  revolutionists;  that  your  own  means  of 
security  and  repression  are  unequal  to  the  emergency ;  that 
disaffection  exists  in  the  army ;  and  that,  whether  for  the 
maintenance  of  the  Government  or  your  safety,  you  have 
only  one  course  remaining." 

''Which  is  —  " 

"  To  call  in  the  Austrians." 

"  Per  Bacco !  it  is  exactly  what  they  have  advised.  How 
did  you  come  to  know  it  ?  Who  is  the  traitor  at  the  Council- 
board?" 

"I  wish  I  could  tell  you  the  name  of  one  who  was  not 
such.  Why,  your  Highness,  these  fellows  are  not  your 
Ministers,  except  in  so  far  as  they  are  paid  by  you.  They 
are  Metternich's  people;  they  receive  their  appointments 
from  Vienna,  and  are  only  accountable  to  the  cabinet  held 
at  Schonbrunn.  If  wise  and  moderate  counsels  prevailed 
here,  if  our  financial  measures  prospered,  if  the  people 
were  happy  and  contented,  how  long,  think  you,  would 
Lombardy  submit  to  be  ruled  by  the  rod  and  the  bayonet? 
Do  you  imagine  that  yo^l  will  be  suffered  to  give  an  example 
to  the  Peninsula  of  a  good  administration  ?  " 

"But  so  it  is,"  broke  in  the  Prince;  "I  defy  any  man 
to  assert  the  opposite.  The  country  is  prosperous,  the 
people  are  contented,  the  laws  •  justly  administered,  and, 
I  hesitate  not  to  say,  myself  as  popular  as  any  sovereign 
of  Europe." 

"And  I  tell  your  Highness,  just  as  distinctly,  that  the 
country  is  ground  down  with  taxation,  even  to  export  duties 
on  the  few  things  we  have  to  export;  that  the  people  are 
poor  to  the  very  verge  of  starvation;  that  if  they  do  not 
take  to  the  highways  as  brigands,  it  is  because  some  tradi- 
tions as  honest  men  yet  survive   amongst  them;   that  the 


ITALIAN  TROUBLES.  201 

laws  only  exist  as  an  agent  of  tyranny,  arrest  and  imprison- 
ment being  at  the  mere  caprice  of  the  authorities.  Nor  is 
there  a  means  by  which  an  innocent  man  can  demand  his 
trial,  and  insist  on  being  confronted  with  his  accuser.  Your 
jails  are  full,  crowded  to  a  state  of  pestilence  with  supposed 
political  offenders,  men  that,  in  a  free  country,  would  be 
at  large,  toiling  industriously  for  their  families,  and  whose 
opinions  could  never  be  dangerous,  if  not  festering  in  the 
foul  air  of  a  dungeon.  And  as  to  your  own  popularity,  all 
I  say  is,  don't  walk  in  the  Piazza  at  Carrara  after  dusk. 
No,  nor  even  at  noonday." 

"  And  you  dare  to  speak  thus  to  we,  Stubber!  "  said  the 
Prince,  his  face  covered  with  a  deadly  pallor  as  he  spoke, 
and  his  white  lips  trembling,  but  less  in  passion  than  in 
fear. 

"  And  why  not,  sir?  Of  what  value  could  such  a  man  as 
\  am  be  to  your  service,  if  I  were  not  to  tell  you  what  you  '11 
never  hear  from  others,  — the  plain,  simple  truth?  Is  it  not 
clear  enough  that  if  I  only  thought  of  my  own  benefit,  I  'd 
say  whatever  you'd  like  best  to  hear?  —  I'd  tell  you,  like 
Landelli,  that  the  taxes  were  well  paid,  or  say,  as  Cerreccio 
did  t'  other  day,  that  your  army  would  do  credit  to  any 
state  in  Europe,  when  he  well  knew  at  the  time  that  the 
artillery  was  in  mutiny  from  arrears  of  pay,  and  the  cavalry 
horses  dying  from  short  rations !  " 

"  I  am  well  weary  of  all  this,"  said  the  Duke,  with  a  sigh. 
"If  the  half  of  what  I  hear  of  my  kingdom  every  day  be 
but  true,  my  lot  in  life  is  worse  than  a  galley-slave's.  One 
assures  me  that  I  am  bankrupt ;  another  calls  me  a  vassal 
of  Austria ;  a  third  makes  me  out  a  Papal  spy ;  and  you 
aver  that  if  I  venture  into  the  streets  of  my  own  town, 
in  the  midst  of  my  own  people,  I  am  almost  sure  to  be 
assassinated !  " 

*'  Take  no  man's  word,  sir,  for  what,  while  you  can  see 
for  yourself,  it  is  your  own  duty  to  ascertain,"  said  Stubber, 
resolutely.  "If  you  really  only  desire  a  life  of  ease  and 
indolence,  forgetting  what  you  owe  to  yourself  and  those 
you  rule  over,  send  for  the  Austrians.  Ask  for  a  brigade 
and  a  general.  You  '11  have  them  for  the  asking.  They  'd 
come  at  a  word,  and  try  your  people  at  the  drum-head,  and 


202        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

flog  and  shoot  them  with  as  little  disturbance  to  you  as  need 
be.  You  may  pension  off  the  judges ;  for  a  court-martial 
is  a  far  speedier  tribunal,  and  a  corporal's  guard  is  quite  an 
economy  in  criminal  justice.  Trade  will  not,  perhaps,  pros- 
per with  martial  law,  nor  is  a  state  of  siege  thought  favor- 
able to  commerce.  No  matter.  You  '11  sleep  safe  so  long 
as  you  keep  within  doors,  and  the  band  under  your  window 
will  rouse  the  spirit  of  nationality  in  your  heart,  as  it  plays, 
'  God  preserve  the  Emperor ! '  " 

"You  forget  yourself,  sir,  and  you  forget  me/"  said  the 
Duke,  sternly,  as  he  drew  himself  up,  and  threw  a  look  of 
insolent  pride  at  the  speaker. 

"Mayhap  I  do,  your  Highness,"  was  the  ready  answer; 
"  and  out  of  that  very  forgetfulness  let  your  Highness  take 
a  warning.  I  say,  once  more,  I  distrust  the  people  about 
you;  and  as  to  this  conspiracy  at  Carrara,  I'll  wager  a 
round  sum  on  it  that  it  was  hatched  on  t  'other  side  of  the 
Alps,  and  paid  for  in  good  florins  of  the  Holy  Roman  Em- 
pire. At  all  events,  give  me  time  to  investigate  the  matter. 
Let  me  have  till  the  end  of  the  week  to  examine  into  it,  and, 
if  I  find  nothing  to  confirm  my  views,  I  '11  say  not  one  word 
against  all  the  measures  of  precaution  that  your  Council  are 
bent  on  importing  from  Austria." 

"Take  your  own  way;  I  promise  nothing,"  said  the 
Duke,  haughtily ;  and,  with  a  motion  of  his  hand,  dismissed 
his  adviser. 


CHAPTER  XXVIL 


CARRARA. 


To  all  the  luxuriant  vegetation  and  cultivated  beauty  of 
Massa,  glowing  in  the  ''golden  glories"  of  its  orange- 
groves,  —  steeped  in  the  perfume  of  its  thousand  gardens,- 

—  Carrara  offers  the  very  strongest  contrast.  Built  in  a 
little  cleft  of  the  Apennines,  it  is  begirt  with  great  moun- 
tains,—  wild,  barren,  and  desolate.  Some,  dark  and  pre- 
cipitous, have  no  traces  in  their  sides  but  those  of  the 
torrents  which  are  formed  by  the  melting  snows ;  others 
show  the  white  caves,  as  they  are  called,  of  that  pure  marble 
which  has  made  the  name  of  the  spot  famous  throughout 
Europe.  High  in  the  mountain  sides,  escarped  amidst 
rocks,  and  zig-zagging  over  many  a  dangerous  gorge  and 
deep  abyss,  are  the  rough  roads  trodden  by  the  weary  oxen, 

—  trailing  along  their  massive  loads  and  straining  their  stout 
chests  to  drag  the  great  white  blocks  of  glittering  stone. 
Far  down  below,  crossed  and  recrossed  by  splashing  torrents, 
sprinkled  with  the  spray  of  a  hundred  cataracts,  stands 
Carrara  itself,  —  a  little  marble  city  of  art,  every  house  a 
studio,  every  citizen  a  sculptor.  Hither  are  sent  all  the 
marvellous  conceptions  of  genius,  —  the  models  which 
mighty  imaginations  have  begotten,  —  to  be  converted  into 
imperishable  stone.  Here  are  the  grand  conceptions  gath- 
ered for  every  land  and  clime,  treasures  destined  to  adorn 
the  great  galleries  of  nations,  or  the  splendid  palaces  of 
kings. 

Some  of  these  studios  are  of  imposing  size  and  vast  pro- 
portions, and  not  devoid  of  a  certain  architectural  preten- 
sion,—  a  group,  a  figure,  or  a  bas-relief  usually  adorning 
the  space  over  the  door,  and  by  its  subject  giving  some 
indication  of  the  tastes  of  the  proprietor.     Thus,  Madonnas 


204        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

and  saints  are  of  frequent  occurrence ;  and  the  majority  of 
the  artists  display  their  faith  by  an  image  of  the  saint  whose 
patronage  they  claim.  Others  exhibit  some  ideal  concep- 
tion ;  and  a  few  denote  their  nationality  by  the  bust  of  their 
sovereign,  or  some  prince  of  his  house. 

One  of  these  buildings,  a  short  distance  from  the  town, 
and  so  small  as  to  be  little  more  than  a  mere  crypt,  was  dis- 
tinguished by  the  chaste  and  simple  elegance  of  its  design, 
and  the  tasteful  ornament  with  which  its  owner  had  decorated 
the  most  minute  details  of  the  building.  He  was  a  young 
artist  who  had  arrived  in  Carrara  friendless  and  unknown, 
but  whose  abilities  had  soon  obtained  for  him  consideration 
and  employment.  At  first,  the  tasks  intrusted  to  him  were 
the  humbler  ones  of  friezes  and  decorative  art ;  but  at  length, 
his  skill  becoming  acknowledged,  to  his  hands  were  confided 
the  choicest  conceptions  of  Danneker,  the  most  rare  crea- 
tions of  Canova.  Little  or  nothing  was  known  of  him  ;  his 
habits  were  of  the  strictest  seclusion,  —  he  went  into  no 
society,  he  formed  no  friendships.  His  solitary  life,  after  a 
while,  ceased  to  attract  any  notice ;  and  men  saw  him  pass, 
and  come  and  go,  without  question,  —  almost  without  greet- 
ing ;  and,  save  when  some  completed  work  was  about  to  be 
packed  off  to  its  destination,  the  name  of  Sebastian  Greppi 
was  rarely  heard  in  Carrara. 

His  strict  retirement  had  not,  however,  exempted  him 
from  the  jealous  suspicions  of  the  authorities ;  on  the  con- 
trary, the  seeming  mystery  of  his  life  had  sharpened  their 
curiosity  and  aroused  their  zeal;  and  more  than  once  was 
he  summoned  to  the  Prefecture  to  answer  some  frivolous 
questions  about  his  passport  or  his   means  of  subsistence. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  errands  that  he  stood  one  morning 
in  the  antechamber  of  the  Podesta's  court,  awaiting  his  turn 
to  bei^  called  and  interrogated.  The  heat  of  a  crowded 
chamber,  the  wearisome  delay,  —  perhaps,  too,  some  vexa- 
tion at  the  frequency  of  these  irritating  calls,  —  had  par- 
tially excited  him ;  and  when  he  was  at  length  introduced, 
his  manner  was  confused,  and  his  replies  vague  and  almost 
wandering. 

Two  strangers,  whose  formal  permission  to  reside  were 
then  being  filled  up  by  a  clerk,  were   accommodated  with 


CARRARA.  205 

seats  in  the  room,  and  listened  with  no  slight  interest  to  a 
course  of  inquiry  so  strange  and  novel  to  their  ears. 

"  Greppi !  "  cried  the  harsh  voice  of  the  President,  "  come 
forward ;  "  and  a  youth  stood  up,  dressed  in  the  blue  blouse 
of  a  common  workman,  and  wearing  the  coarse  shoes  of  the 
very  humblest  laborer ;  but  yet,  in  the  calm  dignity  of  his 
mien  and  the  mild  character  of  his  sad  but  handsome  features, 
already  proclaiming  that  he  came  of  a  class  whose  instincts 
denote  good  blood. 

' '  Greppi,  you  have  a  serv^ant,  it  would  seem,  whose  name 
is  not  in  your  passport.     How  is  this  ?  " 

"He  is  an  humble  friend  who  shares  my  fortunes,  sir," 
said  the  artist.  "  They  asked  no  passport  from  him  when 
we  crossed  the  Tuscan  frontier ;  and  he  has  been  here  some 
months  without  any  demand  for  one." 

' '  Does  he  assist  you  in  your  work  ?  " 

"He  does,  sk,  by  advice  and  counsel;  but  he  is  not  a 
sculptor.  Poor  fellow !  he  never  dreamed  that  his  presence 
here  could  have  attracted  any  remark." 

"  His  tongue  and  accent  betray  a  foreign  origin,  Greppi?  " 

"Be  it  so,  —  so  do  mine,  perhaps.  Are  we  the  less  sub- 
missive to  the  laws?" 

"  The  laws  can  make  themselves  respected,"  said  the 
Podesta,  sternly.  "Where  is  this  man, — how  is  he 
called?" 

"He  is  known  as  Guglielmo,  sir.  At  this  moment  he  is 
ill ;  he  has  caught  the  fever  of  the  Campagna,  and  is  con- 
fined to  bed." 

"  We  shall  send  to  ascertain  the  fact,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Then  my  word  is  doubted !  "  said  the  youth,  haughtily. 

The  Podesta  started,  but  more  in  amazement  than  anger. 
There  was,  indeed,  enough  to  astonish  him  in  the  haughty 
ejaculation  of  the  poorly  clad  boy. 

"  I  am  given  to  believe  that  you  are  not  —  as  your  pass- 
port would  imply  —  a  native  of  Capri,  nor  a  Neapolitan 
born,"  said  the  Podesta. 

"If  my  passport  be  regular  and  my  conduct  blameless, 
what  have  you  or  any  one  to  do  with  my  birthplace  ?  Is 
there  any  charge  alleged  against  me?" 

*'  You  are  forgetting  where  you  are,  boy ;  but  I  may  take 


206        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

measures  to  remind  you  of  it,"  said  the  Podesta,  whispering 
to  a  sergeant  of  the  gendarmes  at  his  side. 

''  I  hope  I  have  said  nothing  that  could  offend  you,"  said 
the  boy,  eagerly ;  ''I  scarcely  know  what  I  have  said.  My 
wish  is  to  submit  myself  in  all  obedience  to  the  laws ;  to  live 
quietly  and  follow  my  trade.  If  my  presence  here  give  dis- 
pleasure to  the  authorities,  I  will,  however  sorry,  take  my 
departure,  though  I  cannot  say  whither  to."  The  last  words 
were  uttered  falteringly,  and  in  a  kind  of  soliloquy,  and 
only  overheard  by  the  two  strangers,  who  now,  having 
received  their  papers,  arose  to  withdraw. 

"  Will  you  call  at  our  inn  and  speak  with  us?  That's  my 
card,"  said  one,  as  he  passed  out,  and  gave  a  visiting-card 
into  the  youth's  hand. 

He  took  it  without  a  word ;  indeed,  he  was  too  deeply 
engaged  in  his  own  thoughts  to  pay  much  attention  to  the 
request. 

"  The  sergeant  will  accompany  you,  my  good  youth,  to 
your  lodgings,  and  verify  what  you  have  stated  as  to  your 
companion.  To-morrow  you  will  appear  here  again,  to' 
answer  certain  questions  we  shall  put  to  you  as  to  your  sub- 
sistence, and  the  means  by  which  you  live." 

"Is  it  a  crime  to  have  wherewithal  to  subsist  upon?" 
asked  the  boy. 

"He  whose  means  of  living  are  disproportionate  to  his 
evident  station  may  well  be  an  object  of  suspicion,"  said 
the  other,  with  a  sneer. 

"  And  who  is  to  say  what  is  my  station,  or  what  becomes 
it?  Will  you  take  upon  you  to  pronounce  upon  the  ques- 
tion?" cried  the  boy,  boldly. 

"  Mayhap  it  is  what  I  shall  do  very  soon !  "  was  the  calm 
answer. 

"  Then  let  me  have  done  with  this.  I'll  leave  the  place 
as  soon  as  my  friend  be  able  to  bear  removal." 

"  Even  that  I  '11  not  promise  for." 

"  Why,  you'll  not  detain  me  here  by  force?  "  exclaimed 
the  youth. 

A  cold,  ambiguous  smile  was  the  only  reply  he  received  to 
this  speech. 

"  Well,  let  us  see  when  this  restraint  is  to  begin,"  cried 


CARRARA.  207 

the  boy,  passionately,  as  he  moved  towards  the  door ;  but  no 
impediment  was  offered  to  his  departure.  On  the  contrary, 
the  servant,  at  a  signal  from  the  Prefect,  threw  wide  the  two 
sides  of  the  folding-doors,  and  the  youth  passed  out,  down 
the  stairs,  and  into  the  street. 

His  mind  obscured  by  passion,  his  heart  bursting  with 
indignation,  he  threaded  his  way  through  many  a  narrow 
lane  and  alley,  till  he  reached  a  small  rustic  bridge,  crossing 
over  which  he  ascended  a  narrow  flight  of  steps  cut  in  the 
solid  rock,  and  gained  a  little  terrace,  on  which  stood  a  small 
cottage  of  the  humblest  kind. 

As  usual  in  Italy,  during  the  summer-time,  the  glass 
sashes  of  the  windows  had  been  removed,  and  the  shutters 
closed.  Opening  one  of  these  gently  with  his  hand,  he 
peeped  in,  and  as  suddenly  a  voice  cried  out,  "Are  you 
come  back?  Oh,  how  my  heart  was  aching  to  see  you 
here  again!  Come  in  quickly,  and  let  me  touch  your 
hand." 

The  next  moment  the  boy  was  seated  by  the  bed,  where 
lay  a  man  greatly  emaciated  by  sickness,  and  bearing  in  his 
worn  features  the  traces  of  a  severe  tertian. 

"It's  going  off  now,"  said  he,  "but  the  fit  was  a  long 
one.  This  morning  it  began  at  eight  o'clock ;  but  I  'm  throw- 
ing it  off  now,  and  I  '11  soon  be  better." 

"My  poor  fellow,"  said  the  boy,  caressing  the  cold 
fingers  within  his  own  hands,  ' '  it  was  in  these  midnight 
rambles  of  mine  you  caught  the  terrible  malady.  As  it 
ever  has  been,  your  fidelity  is  fatal  to  you.  I  told  you  a 
thousand  times  that  I  was  born  to  hard  luck,  and  carried 
more  than  enough  to  swamp  all  who  might  try  to  succor 
me." 

"  And  don't  I  say,  as  the  ould  heathen  philosopher  did 
of  fortune,  'Nullum  numen  habes,  si  sit  prudentia'?"  Is 
it  necessary  to  say  that  the  speaker  was  Billy  Traynor,  and 
the  boy  his  pupil? 

'^ Prudentia"  said  the  youth,  scoffingly,  "may  mean 
anything,  from  trickery  to  downright  meanness ;  since,  by 
such  acts  as  these,  men  grow  great  in  life.  Prudentia  is 
thrift  and  self-denial ;  but  it  is  more  too,  —  it  is  a  com- 
promise between  a  man's  dignity  and  his  worldly  success ; 


208        THE  FORTUNES  OE  GLENCORE. 

it  is  the  compact  that  says,  Bear  this,  that  that  may  happen ; 
and  so  I  '11  none  of  it." 

"  Tell  me  how  you  fared  with  the  Prefect,"  asked  Billy. 

"You  shall  hear,  and  judge  for  yourself,"  said  the  other; 
and  related,  as  well  as  his  memory  would  serve  him,  the 
circumstances  of  his  late  interview. 

"  Well,  well !  "  said  Billy,  "  it  might  be  worse." 

"I  knew  you'd  say  so,  poor  fellow!"  said  the  youth, 
afeectionately ;  "you  accept  the  rubs  of  life  as  cheerfully 
as  I  take  them  with  impatience.  But,  after  all,  this  is 
matter  of  temperament  too.  You  can  forgive,  —  I  love  better 
to  resist." 

"Mine  is  the  better  philosophy,  though,"  said  Billy, 
^'  since  it  will  last  one's  lifetime.  Forgiveness  must  dig- 
nify old  age,  when  your  virtue  of  resistance  be  no  longer 
possible." 

' '  I  never  wish  to  reach  the  time  when  I  may  be  too  old 
for  it,"  said  the  boy,  passionately. 

"Hush!,  don't  say  that.  It's  not  for  you  to  determine 
how  long  you  are  to  live,  nor  in  what  frame  of  mind  years 
are  to  find  you."  He  paused,  and  there  was  a  long  unbroken 
silence  between  them. 

"  I  have  been  at  the  post,"  said  the  youth,  at  last,  "  and 
found  that  letter,  which,  by  the  Neapolitan  postmark,  must 
have  been  despatched  many  weeks  since." 

Billy  Traynor  took  up  the  letter,  whose  seal  was  yet  un- 
broken, and  having  examined  it  carefully,  returned  it  to  him, 
saying,  "  You  did  n't  answer  his  last,  I  think?  " 

"No;  and  I  half  hoped  he  might  have  felt  offended, 
and  given  up  the  correspondence.  What  have  we  to  do 
with  ambassadors  or  great  ministers,  Billy?  Ours  is  not 
the  grand  highway  in  life,  but  the  humble  path  on  the 
mountain  side." 

"I'm  content  if  it  only  lead  upwards,"  said  the  sick 
man ;  and  the  words  were  uttered  firmly,  but  with  the  solemn 
fervor  of  prayer. 


CHAPTER  XXVm. 

A   NIGHT   SCENE. 

As  young  Massy  —  for  so  we  like  best  to  call  him  —  sat 
with  the  letter  in  his  hand,  a  card  fell  to  the  ground  from 
between  his  fingers,  and,  taking  it  up,  he  read  the  name 
"Lord  Selby." 

"What  does  this  mean,  Billy?"  asked  he;  "whom  can 
it  belong  to?  Oh,  I  remember  now.  There  were  some 
strangers  at  the  Podesta's  office  this  morning  when  I  was 
there;  and  one  of  them  asked  me  to  call  at  this  inn,  and 
speak  with  them." 

"  He  has  seen  the  '  Alcibiades,' "  exclaimed  Billy,  eagerly. 
"  He  has  been  at  the  studio?  " 

"How  should  he?"  rejoined  the  youth.  "I  have  not 
been  there  myself  for  two  days :  here  is  the  key ! " 

"He  has  heard  of  it  then, — of  that  I'm  certain;  since 
he  could  not  be  in  town  here  an  hour  without  some  one  tell- 
ing him  of  it." 

Massy  smiled  half  sadly,  and  shook  his  head.       / 

"  Go  and  see  him,  at  all  events,"  said  Billy ;  "  and  be  sure 
to  put  on  your  coat  and  a  hat ;  for  one  would  n't  know  what 
ye  were  at  all,  in  that  cap  and  dirty  blouse." 

"I'll  go  as  I  am,  or  not  at  all,"  said  the  other,  rising. 
"I  am  Sebastian  Greppi,  a  young  sculptor.  At  least," 
added  he,  bitterly,  "I  have  about  the  same  right  to  that 
name  that  I  have  to  any  other."  He  turned  abruptly  away 
as  he  spoke,  and  gained  the  open  air.  There  for  a  few 
moments  he  stood  seemingly  irresolute,  and  then,  wiping 
away  a  heavy  tear  that  had  fallen  on  his  cheek,  he  slowly 
descended  the  steps  towards  the  bridge. 

When  he  reached  the  inn,  the  strangers  had  just  dined, 
but  left  word  that  when  he  called  he  should  be  introduced 
at  once,  and  Massy  followed  the  waiter  into  a  small  garden, 

14 


210        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

where,  in  a  species  of  summer-house,  they  were  seated  at 
theu"  wine.  One  of  them  arose  courteously  as  the  youth 
came  forward,  and  placing  a  chair  for  him,  and  filling  out  a 
glass  of  wine,  invited  him  to  join  them. 

"  Give  him  one  of  your  cigars,  Baynton,"  said  the  other; 
''they  are  better  than  mine."  And  Massy  accepted,  and 
began  smoking  without  a  word. 

' '  That  fellow  at  the  police-office  gave  you  no  further  trouble, 
I  hope,"  said  m}^  lord,  in  a  half -languid  tone,  and  with  that 
amount  of  difficulty  that  showed  he  was  no  master  of 
Italian. 

"No,"  replied  Massy;  "for  the  present,  he  has  done 
nothing  more.  I  'm  not  so  certain,  however,  that  to-morrow 
or  next  day  I  shall  not  be  ordered  away  from  this." 

' '  On  what  grounds  ?  " 

"  Suspicion,  —  Heavens  knows  of  what !  " 

"  That 's  infamous,  I  say.     Eh,  Baynton?  " 

"  Detestable,"  muttered  the  other. 

"  And  whereto  can  you  go?  " 

"I  scarcely  know  as  yet,  since  the  police  are  in  com- 
munication throughout  the  whole  Peninsula,  and  they  trans- 
mit your  character  from  state  to  state." 

"  They  'd  not  credit  this  in  England,  Baynton  !  " 

"  No,  not  a  word  of  it !  "  rejoined  the  other. 

"  You  're  a  Neapolitan,  I  think  I  heard  him  say." 

"  So  my  passport  states." 

"  Ah,  he  won't  say  that  he  is  one,  though,"  interposed  his 
Lordship,  in  English.     "  Do  you  mind  that,  Baynton?  " 

"  Yes,  I  remarked  it,"  was  the  reply. 

"And  how  came  you  here  originally?"  asked  Selby, 
turning  towards  the  youth. 

"I  came  here  to  study  and  to  work.  There  is  always 
enough  to  be  had  to  do  in  this  place,  copying  the  works  of 
great  masters ;  and  at  one's  spare  moments  there  is  time  to 
try  something  of  one's  own." 

"  And  have  you  done  anything  of  that  kind?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  begun.     I  have  attempted  two  or  three." 

"  We  should  like  to  see  them,  — eh,  Baynton?  " 

"  Of  course,  when  we  Ve  finished  our  wine.  It's  not  far 
off,  is  it?" 


A  NIGHT  SCENE.  211 

"A  few  minutes'  walk;  but  not  worth  even  that,  when 
the  place  is  full  of  things  really  worth  seeing.  There's 
Danneker's  'Bathing  Nymph,'  and  Canova's  '  Dead  Cupid,' 
and  Rauch's  'Antigone,'  all  within  reach." 

"Mind  that,  Baynton;  we  must  see  all  these  to-morrow. 
Could  you  come  about  with  us,  and  show  us  what  we  ought 
to  see?" 

"  Who  knows  if  I  shall  not  be  on  the  road  to-morrow?" 
said  the  youth,  smiling  faintly. 

"  Oh,  I  think  not,  if  there's  really  nothing  against  you; 
if  it's  only  mere  suspicion." 

"  Just  so !  "  said  the  other,  and  drank  off  his  wine. 

"  And  you  are  able  to  make  a  good  thing  of  it  here,  —  by 
copying,  I  mean  ?  "  asked  his  Lordship,  languidly. 

"  I  can  live,"  said  the  youth ;  "  and  as  I  labor  very  little 
and  idle  a  great  deal,  that  is  saying  enough,  perhaps." 

"I'm  not  sure  the  police  are  not  right  about  him,  after 
all,  Baynton,"  said  his  Lordship ;  "he  does  n't  seem  to  care 
much  about  his  trade ; "  and  Massy  was  unable  to  repress 
a  smile  at  the  remark. 

"You  don't  understand  English,  do  you?"  asked  Selby, 
with  a  degree  of  eagerness  very  unusual  to  him. 

"  Yes,  I  am  English  by  birth,"  was  the  answer. 

"  English !  and  how  came  you  to  call  yourself  a  Neapoli- 
tan?    What  was  the  object  of  that? " 

"  I  wished  to  excite  less  notice  and  less  observation  here, 
and,  if  possible,  to  escape  the  jealousy  with  which  English- 
men are  regarded  by  the  authorities ;  for  this  I  obtained  a 
passport  at  Naples." 

Baynton  eyed  him  suspiciously  as  he  spoke,  and  as  he 
sipped  his  wine  continued  to  regard  him  with  a  keen  glance. 

"  And  how  did  you  manage  to  get  a  Neapolitan  passport?  " 

"  Our  Minister,  Sir  Horace  Upton,  managed  that  for 
me." 

"  Oh,  you  are  known  to  Sir  Horace,  then?  " 

"Yes." 

A  quick  interchange  of  looks  between  my  lord  and  his 
friend  showed  that  they  were  by  no  means  satisfied  that 
the  young  sculptor  was  simply  a  worker  in  marble  and  a 
fashioner  in  modelling-clay. 


212        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"Have  you  heard  from  Sir  Horace  lately?"  asked  Lord 
Selby. 

"I  received  this  letter  to-day,  but  I  have  not  read  it;" 
and  he  showed  the  unopened  letter  as  he  spoke. 

''  The  police  may,  then,  have  some  reasonable  suspicions 
about  your  residence  here,"  said  his  Lordship,  slowly. 

"My  Lord,"  said  Massy,  rising,  "I  have  had  enough  of 
this  kind  of  examination  from  the  Podesta  himself  this 
morning,  not  to  care  to  pass  my  evening  in  a  repetition  of  it. 
Who  I  am,  what  I  am,  and  with  what  object  here,  are 
scarcely  matters  in  which  you  have  any  interest,  and  as- 
suredly were  not  the  subjects  on  which  I  expected  you 
should  address  me.  I  beg  now  to  take  my  leave."  He 
moved  towards  the  garden  as  he  spoke,  bowing  respectfully 
to  each. 

"  Wait  a  moment ;  pray  don't  go,  —  sit  down  again,  —  I 
never  meant,  —  of  course  I  could  n't  mean  so,  —  eh,  Bayn- 
ton?"  said  his  Lordship,  stammering  in  great  confusion. 

"Of  course  not,"  broke  in  Baynton ;  "his  Lordship's 
inquiries  were  really  prompted  by  a  sincere  deske  to  serve 
you." 

"  Just  so,  —  a  sincere  desire  to  serve  you." 

"  In  fact,  seeing  you,  as  I  may  say,  in  the  toils." 

"  Exactly  so,  —  in  the  toils." 

"He  thought  very  naturally  that  his  influence  and  his 
position  might,  —  you  understand,  —  for  these  fellows  know 
perfectly  well  what  an  English  peer  is,  —  they  take  a  proper 
estimate  of  the  power  of  Great  Britain." 

His  Lordship  nodded  assentingly,  as  though  any  stronger 
corroboration  might  not  be  exactly  graceful  on  his  part,  and 
Baynton  went  on  :  — 

"  Now  you  perfectly  comprehend  why,  — you  see  at  once 
the  whole  thing ;  and  I  'm  sure,  instead  of  feeling  any  sore- 
ness or  irritation  at  my  lord's  interference,  that  in  point  of 
fact  —  " 

"  Just  so,"  broke  in  his  Lordship,  pressing  Massy  into  a 
seat  at  his  side,  —  "  just  so  ;  that 's  it !  " 

It  requires  no  ordinary  tact  for  any  man  to  reseat  himself 
at  a  table  from  which  he  has  risen  in  anger  or  irritation,  and 
Massy  had  far  too  little  knowledge  of  life  to  overcome  this 


A  NIGHT. SCENE.  213 

difficulty  gracefully.  He  tried,  indeed,  to  seem  at  ease,  he 
endeavored  even  to  be  cheerful;  but  the  efforts  were  all 
unsuccessful.  My  lord  was  no  very  acute  observer  at  any 
time ;  he  was,  besides,  so  constitutionally  indolent  that  the 
company  which  exacted  least  was  ever  the  most  palatable  to 
him.  As  for  Baynton,  he  was  only  too  happy  whenever 
least  reference  was  made  to  his  opinion,  and  so  they  sat  and 
sipped  their  wine  with  wonderfully  little  converse  between 
them. 

"You  have  a  statue,  or  a  group,  or  something  or  other, 
haven't  you?  "  said  my  lord,  after  a  very  long  interval. 

"I  have  a  half-finished  model,"  said  the  youth,  not  with' 
out  a  certain  irritation  at  the  indifference  of  his  questioner. 

"Scarcely  light  enough  to  look  at  it  to-night, — eh, 
Baynton?" 

"  Scarcely !  "  was  the  dry  answer. 

"  We  can  go  in  the  morning  though,  eh?  " 

The  other  nodded  a  cool  assent. 

My  lord  now  filled  his  glass,  drank  it  off,  and  refilled, 
with  the  air  of  a  man  nerving  himself  for  a  great  undertaking, 
—  and  such  was  indeed  the  case.  He  was  about  to  deliver 
himself  of  a  sentiment,  and  the  occasion  was  one  to  which 
Baynton  could  not  lend  his  assistance. 

"I  have  been  thinking,"  said  he,  "that  if  that  same 
estate  we  spoke  of,  Baynton,  —  that  Welsh  property,  you 
know,  and  that  thing  in  Ireland,  —  should  fall  in,  I'd  buy 
some  statues  and  have  a  gallery !  " 

"  Devilish  costly  work  you'd  find  it,"  muttered  Baynton. 

"Well,  I  suppose  it  is, — not  more  so  than  a.  racing 
stable,  after  all." 

"  Perhaps  not." 

"Besides,  I  look  upon  that  property  —  if  it  does  ever 
come  to  me  —  as  a  kind  of  windfall;  it  was  one  of  those 
pieces  of  fortune  one  couldn't  have  expected,  you  know." 
Then,  turning  towards  the  youth,  as  if  to  apologize  for  a 
discussion  in  which  he  could  take  no  part,  he  said,  "  We 
were  talking  of  a  property  which,  by  the  eccentricity  of  its 
owner,  may  one  day  become  mine." 

"  And  which  doubtless  some  other  had  calculated  on 
inheriting,"  said  the  youth. 


214        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

''Well,  that  may  be  very  trae;  I  never  thought  about 
that,  —  eh,  Baynton  ?  " 

*'  Why  should  you?  "  was  the  short  response. 

"  Gain  and  loss,  loss  and  gain,"  muttered  the  youth, 
moodily,  "  are  the  laws  of  life." 

''  I  say,  Baynton,  what  a  jolly  moonlight  there  is  out 
there  in  the  garden !  Would  n't  it  be  a  capital  time  this  to 
see  your  model,  eh?" 

"  If  you  are  disposed  to  take  the  trouble,"  said  the  youth, 
rising,  and  blushing  modestly ;  and  the  others  stood  up  at 
the  same  moment. 

Nothing  passed  between  them  as  they  followed  the  young 
sculptor  through  many  an  intricate  by-way  and  narrow  lane, 
and  at  last  reached  the  little  stream  on  whose  bank  stood 
his  studio. 

' '  What  have  we  here !  "  exclaimed  Baynton  as  he  saw  it ; 
"is  this  a  little  temple?  " 

"It  is  my  workshop,"  said  the  boy,  proudly,  and  pro- 
duced the  key  to  open  the  door. 

Scarcely  had  he  crossed  the  threshold,  however,  than  his 
foot  struck  a  roll  of  papers,  and,  stooping  down,  he  caught 
up  a  large  placard,  headed,  "  Morte  al  Tiranno,"  in  large 
capitals.  Holding  the  sheet  up  to  the  moonlight,  he  saw 
that  it  contained  a  violent  and  sanguinary  appeal  to  the  wild- 
est passions  of  the  Carbonari,  —  one  of  those  savage  exhor- 
tations to  bloodshedding  which  were  taken  from  the  terrible 
annals  of  the  French  Revolution.  Some  of  these  bore  the 
picture  of  the  guillotine  at  top,  others  were  headed  with 
cross  poniards. 

' '  What  are  all  these  about  ?  "  asked  Baynton,  as  he  took 
up  three  or  four  of  them  in  his  hand ;  but  the  youth,  over- 
come with  terror,  could  make  no  answer. 

"  These  are  all  sans-culotte  literature,  I  take  it,"  said  his 
Lordship  ;  but  the  youth  was  stupefied  and  silent. 

"Has  there  been  any  treachery  at  work  here?"  asked 
Baynton.     "  Is  there  a  scheme  to  entrap  you?  " 

The  youth  nodded  a  melancholy  and  slow  assent. 

"But  why  should  you  be  obnoxious  to  these  people? 
Have  you  any  enemies  amongst  them  ?  " 

"I  cannot  tell,"  gloomily  muttered  the  youth. 


c  y^kfy  'u<.^U'6h.^j^-ft>ort    ?<  C'  u  {a{<->'i>  i-^ 


c/?*y.>    c<?-}nt^>u 


^VBR^^ 


OF 


1  ^^iVERsiry 


S^L 


OF 


/fORNJi^ 


A  NIGHT  SCENE.  215 

"And  this  is  your  statue?"  said  Baynton,  as,  opening 
a  large  shutter,  he  suffered  a  flood  of  moonlight  to  fall  on 
the  figure. 

"  Fine !  —  a  work  of  great  merit,  Baynton,"  broke  in  his 
Lordship,  whose  apathy  was  at  last  overcome  by  admira- 
tion. But  the  youth  stood  regardless  of  their  comments, 
his  eyes  bent  upon  the  ground ;  nor  did  he  heed  them  as 
they  moved  from  side  to  side,  examining  the  statue  in  all 
its  details,  and  in  words  of  high  praise  speaking  then: 
approval. 

"I'll  buy  this,"  muttered  his  Lordship.  "I'll  give  him 
an  order,  too,  for  another  work, — leaving  the  subject  to 
himself." 

"  A  clever  fellow,  certainly,"  replied  the  other. 

"  Whom  does  he  mean  the  figure  to  represent?  " 

"It  is  Alcibiades  as  he  meets  his  death,"  broke  in  the 
youth ;  "  he  is  summoned  to  the  door  as  though  to  welcome 
a  friend,  and  he  falls  pierced  by  a  poisoned  arrow,  —  there 
is  but  legend  to  warrant  the  fact.  I  cared  little  for  the 
incident,  —  I  was  full  of  the  man,  as  he  contended  with 
seven  chariots  in  the  Olympic  games,  and  proudly  rode  the 
course  with  his  glittering  shield  of  ivory  and  gold,  and  his 
waving  locks  all  perfumed.  I  thought  of  him  in  his  gor- 
geous panoply,  and  his  voluptuousness ;  lion-hearted  and 
danger-seeking,  pampering  the  very  flesh  he  offered  to  the 
spears  of  the  enemy.  I  pictured  him  to  my  mind,  embel- 
lishing life  with  every  charm,  and  daring  death  in  every 
shape, — beautiful  as  Apollo,  graceful  as  the  bounding 
Mercury,  bold  as  Achilles,  the  lion's  whelp,  as  ^schylus 
calls  him.  This,"  added  he,  in  a  tone  of  depression,  — 
"  this  is  but  a  sorry  version  of  what  my  mind  had 
conceived." 

"  I  arrest  you,  Sebastiano  Greppi,"  said  a  voice  from 
behind;  and  suddenly  three  gendarmes  surrounded  the 
youth,  who  stood  still  and  speechless  with  terror,  while  a 
mean-looking  man  in  shabby  black  gathered  up  the  printed 
proclamations  that  lay  about,  and  commenced  a  search  for 
others  throughout  the  studio. 

"Ask  them  will  they  take  our  bail  for  his  appearance, 
Baynton,"  said  my  lord,  eagerly. 


216        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"  No  use,  —  they  'd  only  laugh  at  us,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Can  we  be  of  any  service  to  you?  Is  there  anything 
we  can  do?"  asked  his  Lordship  of  the  boy. 

"You  must  not  communicate  with  the  prisoner,  signore," 
cried  the  brigadier,  "  if  you  don't  wish  to  share  his  arrest." 

"And  this,  doubtless,"  said  the  man  in  black,  standing, 
and  holding  up  the  lantern  to  view  the  statue,  —  "  this  is 
the  figure  of  Liberty  we  have  heard  of,  pierced  by  the 
deadly  arrow  of  Tyranny !  " 

"You  hear  them!"  cried  the  boy,  in  wild  indignation, 
addressing  the  Englishmen ;  "  you  hear  how  these  wretches 
draw  their  infamous  allegations !  But  this  shall  not  serve 
them  as  a  witness."  And  with  a  spring  he  seized  a  large 
wooden  mallet  from  the  floor,  and  dashed  the  model  in 
pieces. 

A  cry  of  horror  and  rage  burst  from  the  bystanders,  and 
as  the  Englishmen  stooped  in  sorrow  over  the  broken  statue, 
the  gendarmes  secured  the  boy's  wrists  with  a  stout  cord, 
and  led  him  away. 

"  Go  after  them,  Baynton ;  tell  them  he  is  an  Englishman, 
and  that  if  he  comes  to  harm  they  '11  hear  of  it !  "  cried  my 
lord,  eagerly;  while  he  muttered  in  a  lower  tone,  "I  think 
we  might  knock  these  fellows  over  and  liberate  him  at 
once,  eh,  Baynton?" 

"No  use  if  we  did,"  replied  the  other;  "they'd  over- 
power us  aftei-wards.  Come  along  to  the  inn;  we'll  see 
about  it  in  the  morning." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A   COUNCIL    OP    STATE. 

It  was  a  fine  mellow  evening  of  the  late  autumn  as  two  men 
sat  in  a  large  and  handsomely  furnished  chamber  opening 
upon  a  vast  garden.  There  was  something  in  the  dim  half- 
light,  the  heavily  perfumed  air,  rich  with  the  odor  of  the 
orange  and  the  lime,  and  the  stillness,  that  imparted  a  sense 
of  solemnity  to  the  scene,  where,  indeed,  few  words  were 
Interchanged,  and  each  seemed  to  ponder  long  after  every 
syllable  of  the'  other. 

We  have  no  mysteries  with  our  reader,  and  we  hasten  to 
say  that  one  of  these  personages  was  the  Chevalier  Stubber, 
—  confidential  minister  of  the  Duke  of  Massa;  the  other 
was  our  old  acquaintance  Billy  Traynor.  If  there  was  some 
faint  resemblance  in  the  fortunes  of  these  two  men,  who, 
sprung  from  the  humblest  walks  of  life,  had  elevated  them- 
selves by  their  talents  to  a  more  exalted  station,  there  all 
likeness  between  them  ended.  Each  represented,  in  some 
of  the  very  strongest  characteristics,  a  nationality  totally 
unlike  that  of  the  other:  the  Saxon,  blunt,  imperious,  and 
decided ;  the  Celt,  subtle,  quick-sighted,  and  suspicious,  dis- 
trustful of  all,  save  his  own  skill  in  a  moment  of  difficulty. 

"But  you  have  not  told  me  his  real  name  yet,"  said  the 
Chevalier,  as  he  slowly  smoked  his  cigar,  and  spoke  with 
the  half-listlessness  of  a  careless  inquirer. 

''  I  know  that,  sir,"  said  Billy,  cautiously;  *'  I  don't  see 
any  need  of  it." 

'^  Nor  your  own,  either,"  remarked  the  other. 

"Nor  even  that,  sir,"  responded  Billy,  calmly. 

"It  comes  to  this,  then,  my  good  friend,"  rejoined 
Stubber,  "  that,  having  got  yourself  into  trouble,  and  having 
discovered,  by  the  aid  of  a  countryman,  that  a  little  frank- 


218        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

ness  would  serve  you  greatly,  you  prefer  to  preserve  a  mys- 
tery that  I  could  easily  penetrate  if  I  cared  for  it,  to  speak- 
ing openly  and  freely,  as  a  man  miglit  with  one  of  his  own." 

"  We  have  no  mysteries,  sir.  We  have  family  secrets 
that  don't  regard  any  one  but  ourselves.  My  young  ward, 
or  pupil,  whichever  I  ought  to  call  him,  has,  maybe,  his  own 
reasons  for  leading  a  life  of  unobtrusive  obscurity,  and  what 
one  may  term  an  umbrageous  existence.  It's  enough  for 
me  to  know  that,  to  respect  it." 

' '  Come,  come,  all  this  is  very  well  if  you  were  at  liberty, 
or  if  you  stood  on  the  soil  of  your  own  country ;  but  remem- 
ber where  you  are  now,  and  what  accusations  are  hanging 
over  you.  I  have  here  beside  me  very  grave  charges  indeed, 
—  constant  and  familiar  intercourse  with  leaders  of  the 
Carbonari  —  " 

*'  We  don't  know  one  of  them,"  broke  in  Billy. 

"Correspondence  with  others  beyond  the  frontier,"  con- 
tinued the  Chevalier. 

"  Nor  that  either,"  Interrupted  Billy. 

"Treasonable  placards  found  by  the  police  in  the  very 
hands  of  the  accused;  insolent  conduct  to  the  authorities 
when  arrested ;  attempted  escape :  all  these  duly  certified  on 
oath." 

"  Devil  may  care  for  that ;  oaths  are  as  plenty  with  these 
blaguards  as  clasp-knives,  and  for  the  same  purpose  too. 
Here 's  what  it  is,  now,"  said  he,  crossing  his  arms  on  the 
table,  and  staring  steadfastly  at  the  other:  "  we  came  here 
to  study  and  work,  to  perfect  ourselves  in  the  art  of  mod- 
ellin',  with  good  studies  around  us;  and,  more  than  all,  a 
quiet,  secluded  little  spot,  with  nothing  to  distract  our  at- 
tention, or  take  us  out  of  a  mind  for  daily  labor.  That  we 
made  a  mistake,  is  clear  enough.  Like  everywhere  else  in 
this  fine  country,  there 's  nothing  but  tyrants  on  one  side, 
and  assassins  on  the  other;  and  meek  and  humble  as  we 
lived,  we  could  n't  escape  the  thievin'  blaguards  of  spies." 

"Do  you  know  the  handwriting  of  this  address?"  said 
the  Chevalier,  showing  a  sealed  letter  directed  to  Sebas- 
tiano  Greppi,  Sculptore,  Carrara. 

"  Maybe  I  do,  maybe  I  don't,"  was  the  gruff  reply. 
**  Won't  you  let  me  finish  what  I  was  sayin'?  " 


A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE.  219 

"  This  letter  was  found  in  the  possession  of  the  young 
prisoner,  and  is  of  some  consequence,"  continued  the  other, 
totally  inattentive  to  the  question. 

"I  suppose  a  letter  is  always  of  consequence  to  him  it's 
meant  for,"  was  the  half-sulky  reply.  "Sure  you're  not 
goin'  to  break  the  seal  —  sure  you  don't  mean  to  read  it !  " 
exclaimed  he,  almost  springing  from  his  seat  as  he  spoke. 

''I  don't  think  I'd  ask  your  permission  for  anything  I 
think  fit  to  do,  my  worthy  fellow,"  said  the  other,  sternly; 
and  then,  passing  across  the  room,  he  summoned  a  gendarme, 
who  waited  at  the  door,  to  enter. 

"Take  this  man  back  to  the  Fortezza,"  said  he,  calmly; 
and  while  Billy  Traynor  slowly  followed  the  guard,  the  other 
seated  himself  leisurely  at  the  table,  lighted  his  candles,  and 
perused  the  letter.  Whether  disappointed  by  the  contents, 
or  puzzled  by  the  meaning,  he  sat  long  pondering  with  the 
document  before  him. 

It  was  late  in  the  night  when  a  messenger  came  to  say  that 
his  Highness  desired  to  see  him ;  and  Stubber  arose  at  once, 
and  hastened  to  the  Duke's  chamber. 

In  a  room  studiously  plain  and  simple  in  all  its  furniture, 
and  on  a  low,  uncurtained  bed,  lay  the  Prince,  half  dressed, 
a  variety  of  books  and  papers  littering  the  table,  and  even 
the  floor  at  his  side.  Maps,  prints,  colored  drawings,  — 
some  representing  views  of  Swiss  scenery,  others  being  por- 
traits of  opera  celebrities,  —  were  mingled  with  illuminated 
missals  and  richly-embossed  rosaries ;  while  police  reports, 
petitions,  rose-colored  billets  and  bon-bons,  made  up  a  mass 
of  confusion  wonderfully  typical  of  the  illustrious  individual 
himself. 

Stubber  had  scarcely  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  room 
when  he  appeared  to  appreciate  the  exact  frame  of  his  mas- 
ter's mind.  It  was  the  very  essence  of  his  tact  to  catch  in  a 
moment  the  ruling  impulse  which  swayed  for  a  time  that 
strange  and  vacillating  nature,  and  he  had  but  to  glance  at 
him  to  divine  what  was  passing  within. 

"  So  then,"  broke  out  the  Prince,  "here  we  are  actually 
in  the  very  midst  of  revolution.  Marocchi  has  been  stabbed 
in  the  Piazza  of  Carrara.     Is  it  a  thing  to  laugh  at,  sir?  " 

"The  wound  has  only  been  fatal  to  the  breast  of  his 


220        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

surtout,  your  Highness ;  and  so  adroitly  given,  besides,  that 
it  does  not  correspond  with  the  incision  in  his  waistcoat." 

"You  distrust  everyone  and  everything,  Stubber;  and, 
of  course,  you  attribute  all  that  is  going  forward  to  the 
police." 

"Of  course  I  do,  your  Highness.  They  predict  events 
with  too  much  accuracy  not  to  have  a  hand  in  their  fulfil- 
ment. I  knew  three  weeks  ago  when  this  outbreak  was  to 
occur,  who  was  to  be  assassinated,  — since  that  is  the  phrase, 
for  Marocchi's  mock  wound,  — who  was  to  be  arrested,  and 
the  exact  nature  of  the  demand  the  Council  would  make  of 
your  Royal  Highness  to  suppress  the  troubles." 

"  And  what  was  that?  "  asked  the  Duke,  grasping  a  paper 
in  his  hand  as  he  spoke. 

"An  Austrian  division,  with  a  half-battery  of  field- 
artillery,  a  judge-advocate  to  try  the  prisoners,  and  a 
provost-marshal  to  shoot  them." 

"  And  you'd  have  me  believe  that  all  these  disturbances 
are  deliberate  plots  of  a  party  who  desire  Austrian  influence 
in  the  Duchy?"  cried  the  Duke,  eagerly.  "  There  may  be 
really  something  in  what  you  suspect.  Here's  a  letter  I 
have  just  received  from  La  Sabloukoff,  —  she  's  always  keen- 
sighted  ;  and  she  thinks  that  the  Court  at  Vienna  is  playing 
out  here  the  game  that  they  have  not  courage  to  attempt  in 
Lombardy.  What  if  this  Wahnsdorf  was  a  secret  agent  in 
the  scheme,  eh,  Stubber?" 

Stubber  started  with  well-affected  astonishment,  and  ap- 
peared as  if  astounded  at  the  keen  acuteness  of  the  Duke's 
suggestion. 

"Eh!"  cried  his  Highness,  in  evident  delight.  "That 
never  occurred  to  you^  Stubber?  I'd  wager  there's  not  a 
man  in  the  Duchy  could  have  hit  that  plot  but  myself." 

Stubber  nodded  sententiously,  without  a  word. 

"I  never  liked  that  fellow,"  resumed  the  Duke.  "I 
always  had  my  suspicion  about  that  half -reckless,  wasteful 
manner  he  had.  I  know  that  I  was  alone  in  this  opinion, 
eh,  Stubber?     It  never  struck  you  ?  " 

"  Never !  your  Highness,  never !  "  replied  Stubber,  frankly. 

"I  can't  show  you  the  Sabloukoff 's  letter,  Stubber, 
there  are  certain  private  details  for  my  own  eye  alone ;  but 


A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE.  221 

she  speaks  of  a  young  sculptor  at  Carrara,  a  certain  —  Let 
me  find  his  name.  Ah!  here  it  is,  Sebastian  Greppi,  a 
young  artist  of  promise,  for  whom  she  bespeaks  our  pro- 
tection.    Can  you  make  him  out,  and  let  us  see  him?" 

Stubber  bowed  in  silence. 

"I  will  give  him  an  order  for  something.  There's  a 
pedestal  in  the  flower-garden  where  the  Psyche  stood.  You 
remember,  I  smashed  the  Psyche,  because  it  reminded  me 
of  Camilla  Monti.  He  shall  design  a  figure  for  that  place. 
I  'd  like  a  youthful  Bacchus.  I  have  a  clever  sketch  of  one 
somewhere ;  and  it  shall  be  tinted,  —  slightly  tinted.  The 
Greeks  always  colored  their  statues.  Strange  enough,  too ; 
for,  do  you  remark,  Stubber,  they  never  represented  the  iris 
of  the  eye,  which  the  Romans  invariably  did.  And  yet,  if 
you  observe  closely,  you'll  see  that  the  eyelid  implies  the 
direction  of  the  eye  more  accurately  than  in  the  Roman 
heads.  I  'm  certain  you  never  detected  what  I  'm  speaking 
of,  eh,  Stubber?" 

Stubber  candidly  confessed  that  he  had  not,  and  listened 
patiently  while  his  master  descanted  critically  on  the  dif- 
ferent styles  of  art,  and  his  own  especial  tact  and  skill  in 
discriminating  between  them. 

''You'll  look  after  these  police  returns,  then,  Stubber," 
said  he,  at  last.  ''You'll  let  these  people  understand  that 
we  can  suflSce  for  the  administration  of  our  own  duchy. 
We  neither  want  advice  from  Metternich,  nor  battalions 
from  Radetzky.  The  laws  here  are  open  to  every  man; 
and  if  we  have  any  claim  to  the  gratitude  of  our  people, 
it  rests  on  our  character  for  justice." 

While  he  spoke  with  a  degree  of  earnestness  that  indicated 
sincerity,  there  was  something  in  the  expression  of  his  eye 
—  a  half-malicious  drollery  in  its  twinkle  —  that  made  it 
exceedingly  difficult  to  say  whether  his  words  were  uttered 
in  honesty  of  purpose,  or  in  mere  mockery  and  derision. 
Whether  Stubber  rightly  understood  their  import  is  more 
than  we  are  able  to  say;  but  it  is  very  probable  that  he 
was,  with  all  his  shrewdness,  mystified  by  one  whose  nature 
was  a  puzzle  to  himself. 

"Let  Marocchi  return  to  Carrara.  Say  we  have  taken 
the  matter  into  our  own  hands.     Change  the  brigadier  in 


222        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

command  of  the  gendarmerie  there.  Tell  the  canonico 
Baldetti  that  we  look  to  him  and  his  deacons  for  true  re- 
ports of  any  movement  that  is  plotting  in  the  town.  I  take 
no  steps  with  regard  to  Wahnsdorf  for  the  present,  but  let 
him  be  closely  watched.  And  then,  Stubber,  send  off  an 
estafetta  to  Pietra  Santa  for  the  ortolans,  for  I  think  we 
have  earned  our  breakfast  by  all  this  attention  to  state 
affairs."  And  then,  with  a  laugh  whose  accents  gave  not 
the  very  faintest  clew  to  its  meaning,  he  lay  back  on  his 
pillow  again. 

^'  And  these  two  prisoners,  your  Highness,  what  is  to  be 
done  with  them  ?  " 

"  Whatever  you  please,  Stubber.  Give  them  the  third- 
class  cross  of  Massa,  or  a  month's  imprisonment,  at  your 
own  good  pleasure.  Only,  no  more  business,  —  no  papers 
to  sign,  no  schemes  to  unravel;  and  so  good  night."  And 
the  Chevalier  retired  at  once  from  a  presence  which  he  well 
knew  resented  no  injury  so  unmercifully  as  any  invasion  of 
his  personal  comfort. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE    LIFE   THEY   LED    AT    MASSA. 

It  was  with  no  small  astonishment  young  Massy  heard  that 
he  and  his  faithful  follower  were  not  alone  restored  to 
liberty,  but  that  an  order  of  his  Highness  had  assigned  them 
a  residence  in  a  portion  of  the  palace,  and  a  promise  of 
future  employment. 

*'This  smacks  of  Turkish  rather  than  of  European  rule," 
said  the  youth.  "  In  prison  yesterday,  — in  a  palace  to-day. 
My  own  fortunes  are  wayward  enough,  Heaven  knows,  not 
to  require  any  additional  ingredient  of  uncertainty.  What 
think  you,  Traynor?" 

"I'm  thinkin',"  said  Billy,  gravely,  ''  that  as  the  bastes 
of  the  field  are  guided  by  their  instincts  to  objects  that  suit 
their  natures,  so  man  ought,  by  his  reason,  to  be  able  to 
pilot  himself  in  difficulties,  —  choosin'  this,  avoidin'  that ; 
seein'  by  the  eye  of  prophecy  where  a  road  would  lead  him, 
and  makin'  of  what  seem  the  accidents  of  life,  steppin'- 
stones  to  fortune." 

"In  what  way  does  your  theory  apply  here?"  cried  the 
other.  "  How  am  I  to  guess  whither  this  current  may  carry 
me?" 

"At  all  events,  there's  no  use  wastin'  your  strength  by 
swimmin'  against  it,"  rejoined  Billy. 

"  To  be  the  slave  of  some  despot's  whim,  — the  tool  of  a 
caprice  that  may  elevate  me  to-day,  and  to-morrow  sentence 
me  to  the  gallows.  The  object  I  have  set  before  myself  in 
life  is  to  be  independent.     Is  this,  then,  the  road  to  it?  " 

"  You  're  tryin'  to  be  what  no  man  ever  was,  or  will  be,  to 
the  world's  end,  then,"  said  Billy.  "Sure  it's  the  very 
nature  and  essence  of  our  life  here  below  that  we  are 
dependent  one  on  the  other  for  kindness,  for  affection,  for 


224        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

material  help  in  time  of  difficulty,  for  counsel  in  time  of 
doubt.  The  rich  man  and  the  poor  one  have  their  mutual 
dependencies ;  and  if  it  was  n't  so,  cowld-hearted  and  selfish 
as  the  world  is,  it  would  be  five  hundred  times  worse." 

"You  mistake  my  meaning,"  said  Massy,  sternly,  "as 
you  often  do,  to  read  me  a  lesson  on  a  text  of  your  own. 
When  I  spoke  of  independence,  I  meant  freedom  from  the 
serfdom  of  another's  charity.  I  would  that  my  life  here, 
at  least,  should  be  of  my  own  procuring." 

"/  get  mine  from  you^''  said  Traynor,  calmly,  "and 
never  felt  myself  a  slave  on  that  account." 

"  Forgive  me,  my  dear,  kind  friend.  I  could  hate  myself 
if  I  gave  you  a  moment's  pain.  This  temper  of  mine  does 
not  improve  by  time." 

"There's  one  way  to  conquer  it.  Don't  be  broodin'  on 
what's  within.  Don't  be  magnifyin'  your  evil  fortunes  to 
your  own  heart  till  you  come  to  think  the  world  all  little, 
and  yourself  all  great.  Go  out  to  your  daily  labor,  what- 
ever it  be,  with  a  stout  spirit  to  do  your  best,  and  a  thank- 
ful, grateful  heart  that  you  are  able  to  do  it.  Never  let  it 
out  of  your  mind  that  if  there 's  many  a  one  your  inferior, 
winnin'  his  way  up  to  fame  and  fortune  before  you,  there  'a 
just  as  many  better  than  you  toilin'  away  unseen  and  unno- 
ticed, wearin'  out  genius  in  a  garret,  and  carryin'  off  a  God- 
like intellect  to  an  obscure  grave  !  " 

"  You  talk  to  me  as  though  my  crying  sin  were  an  over- 
weening vanity,"  said  the  youth,  half  angrily. 

"Well,  it's  one  of  them,"  said  Billy;  and  the  blunt 
frankness  of  the  avowal  threw  the  boy  into  a  fit  of 
laughing. 

"  You  certainly  do  not  intend  to  spoil  me,  Billy,"  said  he, 
still  laughing. 

"  Why  would  I  do  what  so  many  is  ready  to  do  for  noth- 
ing? What  does  the  crowd  that  praise  the  work  of  a  young 
man  of  genius  care  where  they  're  leading  him  to  ?  It 's  like 
people  callin'  out  to  a  strong  swimmer,  '  Go  out  farther  and 
farther,  —  out  to  the  open  say,  where  the  waves  is  rollin' 
big,  and  the  billows  is  roughest ;  that 's  worthy  of  you,  in 
your  strong  might  and  your  stout  limbs.  Lave  the  still 
water  and  the  shallows  to  the  weak  and  the  puny.     Your 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 

THE  LIFE   THEY  LED  AT  MASSA.  225 

course  is  on  the  mountain  wave,  over  the  bottomless  ocean.' 
It 's  little  they  think  if  he 's  ever  to  get  back  again.  'T  is 
their  boast  and  their  pride  that  they  said,  '  Go  on ;  *  and 
when  his  cold  corpse  comes  washed  to  shore,  all  they  have 
is  a  word  of  derision  and  scorn  for  one  who  ventured  beyond 
his  powers." 

"How  you  cool  down  one's  ardor;  with  what  pleasure 
you  check  every  impulse  that  nerves  one's  heart  for  high 
daring!"  said  the  youth,  bitterly.  "These  eternal  warn- 
ings —  these  never-ending  forebodings  of  failure  —  are  sorry 
stimulants  to  energy." 

"  Isn't  it  better  for  you  to  have  all  your  reverses  at  the 
hands  of  a  crayture  as  humble  as  me?  "  said  Billy,  while  the 
tears  glistened  in  his  eyes.  "  What  good  am  I,  except  for 
this?" 

In  a  moment  the  boy's  arms  were  around  him,  while  he 
cried  out,  — 

"There,  forgive  me  once  more,  and  let  me  try  if  I  can- 
not amend  a  temper  that  any  but  yourself  had  grown  weary 
of  correcting.  I  '11  work  —  I  '11  labor  —  I  '11  submit  —  I  '11 
accept  the  daily  rubs  of  life,  as  others  take  them,  and  you 
shall  be  satisfied  with  me.  We  shall  go  back  to  all  our  old 
pursuits,  my  dear  Billy.  I'll  join  all  your  ecstasies  over 
JEschylus,  and  believe  as  much  as  I  can  of  Herodotus,  to 
please  you.  You  shall  lead  me  to  all  the  wonders  of  the 
stars,  and  dazzle  me  with  the  brightness  of  visions  that  my 
intellect  is  lost  in;  and  in  revenge  I  only  ask  that  you 
should  sit  with  me  in  the  studio,  and  read  to  me  some  of 
those  songs  of  Horace  that  move  the  heart  like  old  wine. 
Shall  I  own  to  you  what  it  is  which  sways  me  thus  uncer- 
tainly, —  jarring  every  chord  of  my  existence,  making  life 
a  sea  of  stormy  conflict?     Shall  I  tell  you?  " 

He  grasped  the  other's  hand  with  both  his  own  as  he 
spoke,  and,  while  his  lips  quivered  in  strong  emotion, 
went  on :  — 

"It  is  this,  then.  I  cannot  forget,  do  all  that  I  will,  I 
cannot  root  out  of  my  heart  what  I  once  believed  myself  to 
be.  You  know  what  I  mean.  Well,  there  it  is  still,  like 
the  sense  of  a  wrong  or  foul  injustice,  as  though  I  had  been 
robbed  and  cheated  of  what  never  was  mine  !     This  contrast 

15 


226        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

between  the  life  my  earliest  hopes  had  pictured,  and  that 
which  I  am  destined  to,  never  leaves  me.  All  your  teach- 
ings —  and  I  have  seen  how  devotedly  you  have  addressed 
yourself  to  this  lesson  —  have  not  eradicated  from  my  nature 
the  proud  instincts  that  guided  my  childhood.  Often  and 
often  have  you  warmed  my  blood  by  thoughts  of  a  triumph 
to  be  achieved  by  me  hereafter,  —  how  men  should  recognize 
me  as  a  genius,  and  elevate  me  to  honors  and  rewards ;  and 
yet  would  I  barter  such  success,  ten  thousand  times  told, 
for  an  hour  of  that  high  station  that  comes  by  birth  alone, 
independent  of  all  effort,  —  the  heirloom  of  deeds  chronicled 
centuries  back,  whose  actors  have  been  dust  for  ages.  That 
is  real  pride,"  cried  he,  enthusiastically,  "  and  has  no  alloy 
of  the  petty  vanity  that  mingles  with  the  sense  of  a  personal 
triumph." 

Traynor  hung  his  head  heavily  as  the  youth  spoke,  and 
a  gloomy  melancholy  settled  on  his  features ;  the  sad  con- 
victiorivcame  home  to  him  of  all  his  counsels  being  fruit- 
less, all  his  teachings  in  vain ;  and  as  the  boy  sat  wrapped 
in  a  wild,  dreamy  revery  of  ancestral  greatness,  the  humble 
peasant  brooded  darkly  over  the  troubles  such  a  tempera- 
ment might  evoke. 

"It  is  agreed,  then,"  cried  Massy,  suddenly,  "that  we 
are  to  accept  of  this  great  man's  bounty,  live  under  his 
roof,  and  eat  his  bread.  Well,  I  accede,  —  as  well  his  as 
another's.     Have  you  seen  the  home  they  destine  for  us? " 

"Yes,  it's  a  real  paradise,  and  in  a  garden  that  would 
beat  Adam's  now,"  exclaimed  Traynor;  "for  there's  mar- 
ble fountains,  and  statues,  and  temples,  and  grottos  in  it; 
and  it 's  as  big  as  a  prairie,  and  as  wild  as  a  wilderness. 
And,  better  than  all,  there's  a  little  pathway  leads  to  a 
private  stair  that  goes  up  into  the  library  of  the  palace,> — 
a  spot  nobody  ever  enters,  and  where  you  may  study  the 
whole  day  long  without  hearin'  a  footstep.  All  the  books 
is  there  that  ever  was  written,  and  manuscripts  without  end 
besides ;  and  the  Minister  says  I  'm  to  have  my  own  kay, 
and  go  in  and  out  whenever  I  plaze.  '  And  if  there 's  any- 
thing wantin','  says  he,  '  just  order  it  on  a  slip  of  paper  and 
send  it  to  me,  and  you  '11  have  it  at  once.'  When  I  asked 
if  I  ought  to  spake  to  the  librarian  himself,  he  only  laughed. 


THE  LIFE  THEY  LED  AT  MASSA.  227 

and  said,   '  That 's   me ;  but  I  'm   never  there.     Take   my 
word  for  it,  Doctor,  you'll  have  the  place  to  yourself.' " 

He  spoke  truly.  Billy  Traynor  had  it,  indeed,  to  himself. 
There,  the  gray  dawn  of  morning,  and  the  last  shadows  of 
evening,  ever  found  him,  seated  in  one  of  those  deep,  cell- 
like recesses  of  the  windows ;  the  table,  the  seats,  the  very 
floor  littered  with  volumes  which,  revelling  in  the  luxury  of 
wealth,  he  had  accumulated  around  him.  His  greedy  avidity 
for  knowledge  knew  no  bounds.  The  miser's  thirst  for  gold 
was  weak  in  comparison  with  that  intense  craving  that 
seized  upon  him.  Historians,  critics,  satirists,  poets,  dra- 
matists, metaphysicians,  never  came  amiss  to  a  mind  bent 
on  acquiring.  The  life  he  led  was  like  the  realization  of  a 
glorious  dream,  —  the  calm  repose,  the  perfect  stillness  of 
the  spot,  the  boundless  stores  that  lay  about  him ;  the  grow- 
ing sense  of  power,  as  day  by  day  his  intellect  expanded ; 
new  vistas  opened  themselves  before  him,  and  new  and 
unproved  sources  of  pleasure  sprang  up  in  his  nature.  The 
never-ending  variety  gave  a  zest,  too,  to  his  labors  that 
averted  all  weariness ;  and  at  last  he  divided  his  time 
ingeniously,  alternating  grave  and  difficult  subjects  with 
lighter  topics,  — making,  as  he  said  himself,  "Aristophanes' 
digest  Plato." 

And  what  of  young  Massy  all  this  while?  His  life  was 
a  dream,  too,  but  of  another  and  very  different  kind.  Vi- 
sions of  a  glorious  future  alternated  with  sad  and  depressing 
thoughts;  high  darings,  and  hopeless  views  of  what  lay 
before  him,  came  and  went,  and  went  and  came  again.  The 
Duke,  who  had  just  taken  his  departure  for  some  watering- 
place  in  Germany,  gave  him  an  order  for  certain  statues, 
the  models  for  which  were  to  be  ready  by  his  return,  —  at 
least,  in  that  sketchy  state  of  which  clay  is  even  more 
susceptible  than  canvas.  The  young  artist  chafed  and 
fretted  under  the  restraint  of  an  assigned  task.  It  was  gall 
to  his  haughty  nature  to  be  told  that  his  genius  should  accept 
dictation,  and  his  fancy  be  fettered  by  the  suggestions  of 
another.  If  he  tried  to  combat  this  rebellious  spirit,  and 
addressed  himself  steadily  to  labor,  he  found  that  his  im- 
agination grew  sluggish,  and  his  mind  uncreative.  The 
sense  of  servitude  oppressed  him ;  and  though  he  essayed  to 


228        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

subdue  himself  to  the  condition  of  an  humble  artist,  the  old 
pride  still  rankled  in  his  heart,  and  spirited  him  to  a  haughty 
resistance.  His  days  thus  passed  over  in  vain  attempts  to 
work,  or  still  more  unprofitable  lethargy.  He  lounged 
through  the  deserted  garden,  or  lay,  half -dreamily,  in  the 
long,  deep  grass,  listening  to  the  cicala,  or  watching  the 
emerald-backed  lizards  as  they  lay  basking  in  the  sun. 
He  drank  in  all  the  soft  voluptuous  influences  of  a  climate 
which  steeps  the  senses  in  a  luxurious  stupor,  making  the 
commonest  existence  a  toil,  but  giving  to  mere  indolence  all 
the  zest  of  a  rich  enjoyment.  Sometimes  he  wandered  into 
the  library,  and  noiselessly  drew  nigh  the  spot  where  Billy 
sat  deeply  busied  in  his  books.  He  would  gaze  silently, 
half  curiously,  at  the  poor  fellow,  and  then  steal  noiselessly 
away,  pondering  on  the  blessings  of  that  poor  peasant's 
nature,  and  wondering  what  in  his  own  organization  had 
denied  him  the  calm  happiness  of  this  humble  man's  life. 


CHAPTER  XXXL 

AT   MASSA. 

Billy  Traynor  sat,  deeply  sunk  in  study,  in  the  old  recess 
of  the  palace  library.  A  passage  in  the  ''Antigone"  had 
puzzled  him,  and  the  table  was  littered  with  critics  and 
commentators,  while  manuscript  notes,  scrawled  in  the 
most  rude  hand,  lay  on  every  side.  He  did  not  perceive, 
in  his  intense  preoccupation,  that  Massy  had  entered  and 
taken  the  place  directly  in  front  of  him.  There  the  youth 
sat  gazing  steadfastly  at  the  patient  and  studious  features 
before  him.  It  was  only  when  Traynor,  mastering  the 
difficulty  that  had  so  long  opposed  him,  broke  out  into  an 
enthusiastic  declamation  of  the  text  that  Massy,  unable  to 
control  the  impulse,  laughed  aloud. 

"  How  long  are  you  there?  I  never  noticed  you  comin* 
in,"  said  Billy,  half-shamed  at  his  detected  ardor. 

"But  a  short  time;  I  was  wondering  at  —  ay,  Billy, 
and  was  envying,  too  —  the  concentrated  power  in  which 
you  address  yourself  to  your  task.  It  is  the  real  secret  of 
all  success,  and  somehow  it  is  a  frame  of  mind  I  cannot 
achieve." 

"  How  is  the  boy  Bacchus  goin'on?"  asked  Billy,  eagerly. 

''  I  broke  him  up  yesterday,  and  it  is  like  a  weight  off;  my 
heart  that  his  curly  bullet  head  and  sensual  lips  are  not 
waiting  for  me  as  I  enter  the  studio." 

''And  the  Cleopatra?"  asked  Traynor,  still  more 
anxiously. 

"  Smashed,  —  destroyed.  Shall  I  own  to  you,  Billy,  I  see 
at  last  myself  what  you  have  so  often  hinted  to  me,  —  I  have 
no  genius  for  the  work  ?  " 

"I  never  said, — I  never  thought  so,"  cried  the  other; 
"  I  only  insisted  that  nothing  was  to  be  done  without  labor, 
—  hard,  unflinching  labor;  that  easy  successes  were  poor 
triumphs,  and  bore  no  results." 


230        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"There, — there,  I'll  hear  that  sermon  no  more.  I'd 
not  barter  the  freedom  of  my  own  unfettered  thoughts,  as 
they  come  and  go,  in  hours  of  listless  idleness,  for  all  the 
success  you  ever  promised  me.  There  are  men  toil  elevates, 
—  me  it  wearies  to  depression,  and  brings  no  compensation 
in  the  shape  of  increased  power.  Mine  is  an  unrewarding 
clay,  —  that 's  the  whole  of  it.  Cultivation  only  develops  the 
rank  weeds  which  are  deep  sown  in  the  soil.  I'd  like  to 
travel,  —  to  visit  some  new  land,  some  scene  where  all 
association  with  the  past  shall  be  broken.     What  say  you?  " 

"I'm  ready,  and  at  your  orders,"  said  Traynor,  closing 
his  book. 

"East  or  west,  then,  which  shall  it  be?  If  sometimes 
my  heart  yearns  for  the  glorious  scenes  of  Palestine,  full 
of  memories  that  alone  satisfy  the  soul's  longings,  there 
are  days  when  I  pant  for  the  solitude  of  the  vast  savannas  of 
the  New  World.  I  feel  as  if  to  know  one's  self  thoroughly, 
one's  nature  should  be  tested  by  the  perils  and  exigencies  of 
a  life  hourly  making  some  demand  on  courage  and  ingenuity. 
The  hunter's  life  does  this.  What  say  you,  —  shall  we  try 
it?" 

"I'm  ready,"  was  the  calm  reply. 

"  We  have  means  for  such  an  enterprise,  have  we  not? 
You  told  me,  some  short  time  past,  that  nearly  the  whole  of 
our  last  year's  allowance  was  untouched." 

"Yes,  it's  all  there  to  the  good,"  said  Billy;  "a  good 
round  sum  too." 

"  Let  us  get  rid  of  all  needless  equipment,  then,"  cried 
Massy,  "  and  only  retain  what  beseems  a  prairie  life.  Sell 
everything,  or  give  it  away  at  once." 

"Leave  all  that  to  me, — I'll  manage  everything;  only 
say  when  you  make  up  your  mind." 

"But  it  is  made  up.  I  have  resolved  on  the  step.  Few 
can  decide  so  readily ;  for  I  leave  neither  home  nor  country 
behind." 

"Don't  say  that,"  burst  in  Billy;  "here's  myself,  the 
poorest  crayture  that  walks  the  earth,  that  never  knew  where 
he  was  born  or  who  nursed  him,  yet  even  to  me  there's  the 
tie  of  a  native  land,  —  there 's  the  soil  that  reared  warriors 
and  poets  and  orators  that  I  heard  of  whep  a  child,  and 


AT  MASSA.  231 

gloried  in  as  a  man;  and,  better  than  that,  there's  the  green 
meadows  and  the  leafy  valleys  where  kind-hearted  men  and 
women  live  and  labor,  spakin'  our  own  tongue  and  feelin' 
our  own  feelin's,  and  that,  if  we  saw  to-morrow,  we  'd  know 
were  our  own,  —  heart  and  hand  our  own.  The  smell  of  the 
yellow  furze,  under  a  griddle  of  oaten  bread,  would  be 
sweeter  to  me  than  all  the  gales  of  Araby  the  Blest ;  for  it 
would  remind  me  of  the  hearth  I  had  my  share  of,  and  the 
roof  that  covered  me  when  I  was  alone  in  the  world." 

The  boy  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  made  no  answer. 
At  last,  raising  up  his  head,  he  said,  — 

''  Let  us  try  this  life;  let  us  see  if  action  be  not  better 
than  mere  thought.  The  efforts  of  intellect  seem  to  inspire 
a  thirst  there  is  no  slaking.  Sleep  brings  no  rest  after 
them.  I  long  for  the  sense  of  some  strong  peril  which, 
over,  gives  the  proud  feeling  of  a  goal  reached,  —  a  feat 
accomplished." 

"  I  '11  go  wherever  you  like  ;  I  '11  be  whatever  you  want 
me,"  said  Billy,  affectionately. 

''  Let  us  lose  no  time,  then.  I  would  not  that  my  present 
ardor  should  cool  ere  we  have  begun  our  plan.  What  day 
is  this?  The  seventh.  Well,  on  the  eighteenth  there  is  a 
ship  sails  from  Genoa  for  Porto  Rico.  It  was  the  announce- 
ment set  my  heart  a-thinkin^  of  the  project.  I  dreamed  of 
it  two  entire  nights.  I  fancied  myself  walking  the  deck  on 
a  starlit  night,  and  framing  all  my  projects  for  the  future. 
The  first  thing  I  saw  next  morning  was  the  same  placard, 
'The  "Colombo"  will  sail  for  Porto  Rico  on  Friday,  the 
eighteenth.' " 

"  An  unlucky  day,"  muttered  Billy,  interrupting. 

"  I  have  fallen  upon  few  that  were  otherwise,"  said  Massy, 
gloomily;  "  besides,"  he  added,  after  a  pause,  "I  have  no 
faith  in  omens,  or  any  care  for  superstitions.  Come,  let  us 
set  about  our  preparations.  Do  you  bethink  you  how  to  rid 
ourselves  of  all  useless  encumbrances  here.  Be  it  my  care 
to  jot  down  the  list  of  all  we  shall  need  for  the  voyage  and 
the  life  to  follow  it.  Let  us  see  which  displays  most  zeal 
for  the  new  enterprise." 

Billy  Traynor  addressed  himself  with  a  will  to  the  duty 
allotted  him.     He  rummaged  through  drawers  and  desks, 


232        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

destroyed  papers  and  letters,  laid  aside  all  the  articles  which 
he  judged  suitable  for  preservation,  and  then  hastened  off 
to  the  studio  to  arrange  for  the  disposal  of  the  few  ' '  stud- 
ies," for  they  were  scarcely  more,  which  remained  of 
Massy 's  labors. 

A  nearly  finished  Faun,  the  head  of  a  Niobe,  the  arm  and 
hand  of  a  Jove  launching  a  thunderbolt,  the  torso  of  a  dead 
sailor  after  shipwreck,  lay  amid  fragments  of  shattered  fig- 
ures, grotesque  images,  some  caricatures  of  his  own  works, 
and  crude  models  of  anatomy.  The  walls  were  scrawled 
with  charcoal  drawings  of  groups,  —  one  day  to  be  fashioned 
in  sculpture,  — with  verses  from  Dante,  or  lines  fromTasso, 
inscribed  beneath ;  proud  resolves  to  a  life  of  labor  figured 
beside  stanzas  in  praise  of  indolence  and  dreamy  abandon- 
ment. There  were  passages  of  Scripture,  too,  glorious 
bursts  of  the  poetic  rapture  of  the  Psalms,  intermingled  with 
quaint  remarks  on  life  from  Jean  Paul  or  Herder.  All  that 
a  discordant,  incoherent  nature  consisted  of  was  there  in 
some  shape  or  other  depicted ;  and  as  Billy  ran  his  eye  over 
this  curious  journal,  —  for  such  it  was,  —  he  grieved  over  the 
spirit  which  had  dictated  it. 

The  whole  object  of  all  his  teaching  had  been  to  give  a 
purpose  to  this  uncertain  and  wavering  nature,  and  yet 
everything  showed  him  now  that  he  had  failed.  The  blight 
which  had  destroyed  the  boy's  early  fortunes  still  worked 
its  evil  influences,  poisoning  every  healthful  effort,  and  dash- 
ing with  a  sense  of  shame  every  successful  step  towards 
fame  and  honor. 

"  Maybe  he's  right  after  all,"  muttered  Billy  to  himself. 
''  The  New  World  is  the  only  place  for  those  who  have  not 
the  roots  of  an  ancient  stock  to  hold  them  in  the  Old.  Men 
can  be  there  whatever  is  in  them,  and  they  can  be  judged 
without  the  prejudices  of  a  class." 

Having  summed  up,  as  it  were,  his  own  doubts  in  this  re- 
mark, he  proceeded  with  his  task.  While  he  was  thus  occu- 
pied. Massy  entered,  and  threw  himself  into  a  chair. 

"There,  you  may  give  it  up,  Traynor.  Fate  is  ever 
against  us,  do  and  decide  on  what  we  will.  Your  con- 
founded omen  of  a  Friday  was  right  this  time." 

"  What  do  you  mean?     Have  you  altered  your  mind? " 


AT  MASSA.  233 

"  I  expected  you  to  say  so,"  said  the  other,  bitterly. 
"  I  knew  that  I  should  meet  with  this  mockery  of  my  resolu- 
tion, but  it  is  uncalled  for.     It  is  not  I  that  have  changed !  " 

"  What  is  it,  then,  has  happened,  —  do  they  refuse  your 
passport  ?  " 

' '  Not  that  either ;  I  never  got  so  far  as  to  ask  for  it.  The 
misfortune  is  in  this  wise :  on  going  to  the  bank  to  learn  the 
sum  that  lay  to  my  credit  and  draw  for  it,  I  was  met  by  the 
reply  that  I  had  nothing  there,  —  not  a  shilling.  Before  I 
could  demand  how  this  could  be  the  case,  the  whole  truth 
suddenly  flashed  across  my  memory,  and  I  recalled  to  mind 
how  one  night,  as  I  lay  awake,  the  thought  occurred  to  me 
that  it  was  base  and  dishonorable  in  me,  now  that  I  was 
come  to  manhood,  to  accept  of  the  means  of  life  from  one 
who  felt  shame  in  my  connection  with  him.  '  Why,'  thought 
I,  '  is  there  to  be  the  bond  of  dependence  where  there  is  no 
tie  of  affection  to  soften  its  severity?*  And  so  I  arose 
from  my  bed,  and  wrote  to  Sir  Horace,  saying  that  by  the 
same  post  I  should  remit  to  his  banker  at  Naples  whatever 
remained  of  my  last  year's  allowance,  and  declined  in  future 
to  accept  of  any  further  assistance.  This  I  did  the  same 
day,  and  never  told  you  of  it,  —  partly,  lest  you  should  try 
to  oppose  me  in  my  resolve ;  partly,"  and  here  his  voice 
faltered,  "  to  spare  myself  the  pain  of  revealing  my  motives. 
And  now  that  I  have  buoyed  my  heart  up  with  this  project, 
I  find  myself  without  means  to  attempt  it.  Not  that  I  regret 
my  act,  or  would  recall  it,"  cried  he,  proudly,  "  but  that  the 
sudden  disappointment  is  hard  to  bear.  I  was  feeding  my 
hopes  with  such  projects  for  the  future  when  this  stunning 
news  met  me,  and  the  thought  that  I  am  now  chained  here 
by  necessity  has  become  a  torture." 

"What  answer  did  Sir  Horace  give  to  your  letter?" 
asked  Billy. 

*'I  forget;  I  believe  he  never  replied  to  it,  or  if  he  did, 
I  have  no  memory  of  what  he  said.  Stay,  —  there  was  a 
letter  of  his  taken  from  me  when  I  was  arrested  at  Carrara. 
The  seal  was  unbroken  at  the  time." 

"I  remember  the  letter  was  given  to  the  Minister,  who 
has  it  still  in  his  keeping." 

''What  care  I,"  cried  Massy,  angrily,  "in  whose  hands 
it  may  be?" 


234        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 


(( 


The  Minister  is  not  here  now,"  said  Billy,  half  speaking 
to  himself,  "he  is  travelling  with  the  Duke;  but  when  he 
comes  back  —  " 

"When  he  comes  back!"  burst  in  Massy,  impatiently; 
"with  what  calm  philosophy  you  look  forward  to  a  remote 
future.  I  tell  you  that  this  scheme  is  now  a  part  and  parcel 
of  my  very  existence.  I  can  turn  to  no  other  project,  or 
journey  no  other  road  in  life,  till  at  least  I  shall  have  tried 
it!" 

"Well,  it  is  going  to  work  in  a  more  humble  fashion," 
said  Billy,  calmly.  "  Leave  me  to  dispose  of  all  these  odds 
and  ends  here  —  " 

"This  trash!"  cried  the  youth,  fiercely.  "Who  would 
accept  it  as  a  gift?" 

"Don't  disparage  it;  there  are  signs  of  genius  even  in 
these  things ;  but,  above  all,  don't  meddle  with  me,  but  just 
leave  me  free  to  follow  my  own  way.  There  now,  go  back 
and  employ  yourself  preparing  for  the  road ;  trust  the  rest 
to  me." 

Massy  obeyed  without  speaking.  It  was  not,  indeed,  that 
he  ventured  to  believe  in  Traynor's  resources,  but  he  was 
indisposed  to  further  discussion,  and  longed  to  be  in  solitude 
once  more. 

It  was  late  at  night  when  they  met  again.  Charles  Massy 
was  seated  at  a  window  of  his  room,  looking  out  into  the 
starry  blue  of  a  cloudless  sky,  when  Traynor  sat  down 
beside  him.  "Well,"  said  he,  gently,  "it's  all  done  and 
finished.  I  have  sold  off  everything,  and  if  you  will  only 
repair  the  hand  of  the  Faun,  which  I  broke  in  removing, 
there's  nothing  more  wanting." 

"That  much  can  be  done  by  any  one,"  said  Massy, 
haughtily.  "  I  hope  never  to  set  eyes  on  the  trumpery 
things  again." 

"But  I  have  promised  you  would  do  it,"  said  Traynor, 
eagerly. 

"  And  how  —  by  what  right  could  you  pledge  yourself  for 
my  labor?  Nay,"  cried  he,  suddenly  changing  the  tone  in 
which  he  spoke,  "  knowing  my  wilful  nature,  how  could  you 
answer  for  what  I  might  or  might  not  do  ?  " 

"  I  knew,"  said  Billy,  slowly,  "that  you  had  a  great  pro- 


AT  MASSA.  235 

ject  in  your  head,  and  that  to  enable  you  to  attempt  it,  you 
would  scorn  to  throw  all  the  toil  upon  another." 

*'  I  never  said  I  was  ashamed  of  labor,"  said  the  youth, 
reddening  with   shame. 

"  If  you  had,  I  would  despair  of  you  altogether,"  rejoined 
the  other. 

"Well,  what  is  it  that  I  have  to  do?"  said  Massy, 
bluntly. 

''It  is  to  remodel  the  arm,  for  I  don't  think  you  can 
mend  it ;  but  you  '11  see  it  yourself." 

''  Where  is  the  figure,  —  in  the  studio?  " 

"  No;  it  is  in  a  small  pavilion  of  a  villa  just  outside  the 
gates.  It  was  while  I  was  conveying  it  there  it  met  this 
misfortune.  There's  the  name  of  the  villa  on  that  card. 
You  '11  find  the  garden  gate  open,  and  by  taking  the  path 
through  the  olive  wood  you  '11  be  there  in  a  few  minutes ; 
for  I  must  go  over  to-morrow  to  Carrara  with  the  Niobe ; 
the  Academy  has  bought  it  for  a  model." 

A  slight  start  of  surprise  and  a  faint  flush  bespoke  the 
proud  astonishment  with  which  he  heard  of  this  triumph; 
but  he  never  spoke  a  word. 

"  If  you  had  any  pride  in  your  works,  you'd  be  de- 
lighted to  see  where  the  Faun  is  to  be  placed.  It  is  in  a 
garden,  handsomer  even  than  this  here,  with  terraces  ris- 
ing one  over  the  other,  and  looking  out  on  the  blue  sea, 
from  the  golden  strand  of  Via  Reggio  down  to  the  head- 
lands above  Spezia.  The  great  olive  wood  in  the  vast 
plain  lies  at  your  feet,  and  the  white  cliffs  of  Serravezza 
behind  you." 

"What  care  I  for  all  this?"  said  Massy,  gloomily. 
"  Benvenuto  could  afford  to  be  in  love  with  his  own  works, 
—  /  cannot !  " 

Traynor  saw  at  once  the  mood  of  mind  he  was  in,  and 
stole  noiselessly  away  to  his  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE    PAVILION   IN   THE   GARDEN. 

Charles  Massy,  dressed  in  the  blouse  of  his  daily  labor, 
and  with  the  tools  of  his  craft  in  his  hand,  set  out  early 
in  search  of  the  garden  indicated  by  Billy  Traynor.  A 
sense  of  hope  that  it  was  for  the  last  time  he  was  to  exer- 
cise his  art,  that  a  new  and  more  stirring  existence  was 
now  about  to  open  before  him,  made  his  step  lighter  and 
his  spirits  higher  as  he  went.  "  Once  amid  the  deep  woods, 
and  on  the  wide  plains  of  the  New  World,  I  shall  dream  no 
more  of  what  judgment  men  may  pass  upon  my  efforts. 
There,  if  I  suffice  to  myself,  I  have  no  other  ordeal  to 
meet.  Perils  may  try  me,  but  not  the  whims  and  tastes  of 
other  men." 

Thus,  fancying  an  existence  of  unbounded  freedom  and 
unfettered  action,  he  speedily  traversed  the  olive  wood,  and 
almost  ere  he  knew  it  found  himself  within  the  garden. 
The  gorgeous  profusion  of  beautiful  flowers,  the  graceful 
grouping  of  shrubs,  the  richly  perfumed  air,  laden  with 
a  thousand  odors,  first  awoke  him  from  his  day  dream,  and 
he  stood  amazed  in  the  midst  of  a  scene  surpassing  all  that 
he  had  ever  conceived  of  loveliness.  From  the  terrace, 
where  under  a  vine  trellis  he  was  standing,  he  could  perceive 
others  above  him  rising  on  the  mountain  side,  while  some 
beneath  descended  towards  the  sea,  which,  blue  as  a  tur- 
quoise, lay  basking  and  glittering  below.  A  stray  white 
sail  or  so  was  to  be  seen,  but  there  was  barely  wind  to  shake 
the  olive  leaves,  and  waft  the  odors  of  the  orange  and  the 
oleander.  It  was  yet  too  early  for  the  hum  of  insect  life, 
and  the  tricklings  of  the  tiny  fountains  that  sprinkled  the 
flower-beds  were  the  only  sounds  in  the  stillness.  It  was  in 
color,  outline,  effect,  and  shadow,  a  scene  such  as  only 
Italy  can  present,  and. Massy  drank  in  all  its  influences  with 
an  eager  delight. 


THE  PAVILION  IN  THE  GARDEN.  237 

*'  Were  I  a  rich  man,"  said  he,  ''I  would  buy  this  para- 
dise. What  in  all  the  splendor  of  man's  invention  can 
compare  with  the  gorgeous  glory  of  this  flowery  carpet? 
What  frescoed  ceiling  could  vie  with  these  wide-leaved 
palms,  interlaced  with  these  twining  acacias,  glimpses  of 
the  blue  sky  breaking  through  ?  And  for  a  mirror,  there  lies 
Nature's  own,  —  the  great  blue  ocean !  What  a  life  were  it,  to 
linger  days  and  hours  here,  amid  such  objects  of  beauty, 
having  one's  thoughts  ever  upwards,  and  making  in  imagina- 
tion a  world  of  which  these  should  be  the  types.  The 
faintest  fancies  that  could  float  across  the  mind  in  such  an 
existence  would  be  pleasures  more  real,  more  tangible,  than 
ever  were  felt  in  the  tamer  life  of  the  actual  world." 

Loitering  along,  he  at  length  came  upon  the  little  temple 
which  sei-ved  as  a  studio,  on  entering  which,  he  found  his 
own  statue  enshrined  in  the  place  of  honor.  Whether  it  was 
the  frame  of  mind  in  which  he  chanced  to  be,  or  that  place 
and  light  had  some  share  in  the  result,  for  the  first  time  the 
figure  struck  him  as  good,  and  he  stood  long  gazing  at  his 
own  work  with  the  calm  eye  of  a  critic.  At  length,  detect- 
ing, as  he  deemed,  some  defects  in  design,  he  drew  nigh, 
and  began  to  correct  them.  There  are  moments  in  which 
the  mind  attains  the  highest  and  clearest  perception,  — 
seasons  in  which,  whatever  the  nature  of  the  mental  opera- 
tion, the  faculties  address  themselves  readily  to  the  tasfe, 
and  labor  becomes  less  a  toil  than  an  actual  pleasure.  This 
was  such.  Massy  worked  on  for  hours ;  his  conceptions 
grew  rapidly  under  his  hand  into  bold  realities,  and  he  saw 
that  he  was  succeeding.  It  was  not  alone  that  he  had 
imparted  a  more  graceful  and  lighter  beauty  to  his  statue, 
but  he  felt  within  himself  the  promptings  of  a  spirit  that 
grew  with  each  new  suggestion  of  its  own.  Efforts  that 
before  had  seemed  above  him  he  now  essayed  boldly ;  diffi- 
culties that  once  had  appeared  insurmountable  he  now  en- 
countered with  courageous  daring.  Thus  striving,  he  lost 
all  sense  of  fatigue.  Hunger  and  exhaustion  were  alike 
unremembered,  and  it  was  already  late  in  the  afternoon,  as, 
overcome  by  continued  toil,  he  threw  himself  heavily  down, 
and  sank  off  into  a  deep  sleep. 

It  was  nigh  sunset  as  he  awoke.     The  distant  bell  of  a 


238        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

monastery  was  ringing  the  hour  of  evening  prayer,  the 
solemn  chime  of  the  "  Venti  quattro,"  as  he  leaned  on  his 
arm  and  gazed  in  astonishment  around  him.  The  whole 
seemed  like  a  dream.  On  every  pide  were  objects  new  and 
strange  to  his  eyes,  —  casts  and  models  he  had  never  seen 
before ;  busts  and  statues  and  studies  all  unknown  to  him. 
At  last  his  eyes  rested  on  the  Faun,  and  he  remembered  at 
once  where  he  was.  The  languor  of  excessive  fatigue,  how- 
ever, still  oppressed  him,  and  he  was  about  to  lie  back 
again  in  sleep,  when,  bending  gently  over  him,  a  young  girl, 
with  a  low,  soft  accent,  asked  if  he  felt  ill,  or  only  tired. 

Massy  gazed,  without  speaking,  at  features  regular  as  the 
most  classic  model,  and  whose  paleness  almost  gave  them 
the  calm  beauty  of  the  marble.  His  steady  stare  slightly 
colored  her  cheek,  and  made  her  voice  falter  a  little  as  she 
repeated  her  question. 

"  I  scarcely  know,"  said  he,  sighing  heavily.  "  I  feel  as 
though  this  were  a  dream,  and  I  am  afraid  to  awaken  from 
it." 

''Let  me  give  you  some  wine,"  said  she,  bending  down 
to  hand  him  the  glass;  "you  have  over-fatigued  yourself . 
The  Faun  is  by  your  hand,  is  it  not  ?  " 

He  nodded  a  slow  assent. 

"  Whence  did  you  derive  that  knowledge  of  ancient  art?  " 
said  she,  eagerly.  "Your  figure  has  the  light  elasticity  of 
the  classic  models,  and  yet  nothing  strained  or  exaggerated 
In  attitude.     Have  you  studied  at  Rome?  " 

"  I  could  do  better  now,"  said  the  youth,  as,  rising  on  his 
elbow,  he  strained  his  eyes  to  examine  her.  "  I  could 
achieve  a  real  success." 

A  deep  flush  covered  her  face  at  these  words,  so  palpably 
alluding  to  herself,  and  she  tried  to  repeat  her  question. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "I  cannot  say  I  have  ever  studied :  all 
that  I  have  done  is  full  of  faults ;  but  I  feel  the  spring  of 
better  things  within  me.     Tell  me,  is  this  your  home  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  she,  srciiling  faintly.  "I  live  in  the  villa 
here  with  my  aunt.  She  has  purchased  your  statue,  and 
wishes  you  to  repair  it,  and  then  to  engage  in  some  other 
work  for  her.  Let  me  assist  you  to  rise ;  you  seem  very 
weak." 


THE  PAVILION  IN  THE   GARDEN.  239 

"I  am  weak,  and  weary  too,"  said  he,  staggering  to  a 
seat.  ''I  have  overworked  myself,  perhaps,  —  I  scarcely 
know.     Do  not  take  away  your  hand." 

' '  And  you  are,  then,  the  Sebastian  Greppi  of  whom 
Carrara  is  so  proud?" 

''  They  call  me  Sebastian  Greppi;  but  I  never  heard  that 
my  name  was  spoken  of  with  any  honor." 

"  You  are  unjust  to  your  own  fame.  We  have  often  heard 
of  you.  See,  here  are  two  models  taken  from  your  works. 
They  have  been  my  studies  for  many  a  day.  I  have  often 
wished  to  see  you,  and  ask  if  my  attempt  were  rightly  begun. 
Then  here  is  a  hand." 

"  Let  me  model  yours,"  said  the  youth,  gazing  steadfastly 
at  the  beautifully  shaped  one  which  rested  on  the  chair 
beside  him. 

"  Come  with  me  to  the  villa,  and  I  will  present  you  to  my 
aunt ;  she  will  be  pleased  to  know  you.  There,  lean  on  my 
arm,  for  I  see  you  are  very  weak." 

"Why  are  you  so  kind,  so  good  to  me?"  said  he, 
faintly,  while  a  tear  rose  slowly  to  his  eye. 

He  arose  totteringly,  and,  taking  her  arm,  walked  slowly 
along  at  her  side.  As  they  went,  she  spoke  kindly  and  en- 
couragingly to  him,  praised  what  she  had  seen  of  his  works, 
and  said  how  frequently  she  had  wished  to  know  him,  and 
enjoy  the  benefit  of  his  counsels  in  art.  ''  For  I,  too,"  said 
she,  laughing,  "would  be  a  sculptor." 

The  youth  stopped  to  gaze  at  her  with  a  rapture  he  could 
not  control.  That  one  of  such  a  station,  surrounded  by  all 
the  appliances  of  a  luxurious  existence,  could  devote  herself 
to  the  toil  and  labor  of  art,  implied  an  amount  of  devotion 
and  energy  that  at  once  elevated  her  in  his  esteem.  She 
blushed  deeply  at  his  continued  stare,  and  turned  at  last 
away. 

"Oh,  do  not  feel  offended  with  me,"  cried  he,  passion- 
ately. "  If  you  but  knew  how  your  words  have  relighted 
within  me  the  dying-out  embers  of  an  almost  exhausted 
ambition,  —  if  you  but  knew  how  my  heart  has  gained 
courage  and  hope,  —  how  light  and  brightness  have  shone  in 
upon  me  after  hours  and  days  of  gloom !  It  was  but  yester- 
day I  had  resolved  to  abandon  this  career  forever.     I  was 


240        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

bent  on  a  new  life,  in  a  new  world  beyond  the  seas.  These 
few  things  that  a  faithful  companion  of  mine  had  charged 
himself  Lo  dispose  of,  were  to  supply  the  means  of  the 
journey ;  and  now  I  think  of  it  no  more.  I  shall  remain 
here  to  work  hard  and  study,  and  try  to  achieve  what  may 
one  day  be  called  good.  You  will  sometimes  deign  to  see 
what  I  am  doing,  to  tell  me  if  my  efforts  are  on  the  road  to 
success,  to  give  me  hope  when  I  am  weak-hearted,  and 
courage  when  1  am  faint.  I  know  and  feel,"  said  he,  proudly, 
"  that  I  am  not  devoid  of  what  accomplishes  success,  for  I 
can  toil  and  toil,  and  throw  my  whole  soul  into  my  work ; 
but  for  this  I  need,  at  least,  one  who  shall  watch  me  with  an 
eye  of  interest,  glorying  when  I  win,  sorrowing  when  I  am 
defeated.  —  Where  are  we  ?  What  palace  is  this  ?  "  cried  he, 
as  they  crossed  a  spacious  hall  paved  with  porphyry  and 
Sienna  marble. 

"This  is  my  home,"  said  the  girl,  "and  this  is  its 
mistress." 

Just  as  she  spoke,  she  presented  the  youth  to  a  lady,  who, 
reclining  on  a  sofa  beside  a  window,  gazed  out  towards 
the  sea.  She  turned  suddenly,  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  the 
stranger.  With  a  wild  start,  she  sprang  up,  and,  staring 
eagerly  at  him,  cried,  "Who  is  this?  Where  does  he  come 
from?" 

The  young  girl  told  his  name  and  what  he  was;  but 
the  words  did  not  fall  on  listening  ears,  and  the  lady  sat  like 
one  spell-bound,  with  eyes  riveted  on  the  youth's  face. 

"Am  I  like  any  one  you  have  known,  signora?"  asked 
he,  as  he  read  the  effect  his  presence  had  produced  on  her. 
"  Do  I  recall  some  other  features? " 

"You  do,"  said  she,  reddening  painfully. 

"  And  the  memory  is  not  of  pleasure?  "  added  the  youth. 

"Far,  far  from  it;  it  is  the  saddest  and  cruelest  of  all 
my  life,"  muttered  she,  half  to  herself.  "  What  part  of  Italy 
are  you  from?     Your  accent  is  Southern." 

"It  is  the  accent  of  Naples,  signora,"  said  he,  evading 
her  question. 

"  And  your  mother,  was  she  Neapolitan?  " 

"  I  know  little  of  my  birth,  signora.  It  is  a  theme  I 
would  not  be  questioned  on." 


THE  PAVILION  IN  THE  GARDEN.  241 

''  And  you  are  a  sculptor?  " 

''The  artist  of  the  Faun,  dearest  aunt,"  broke  in  the 
girl,  who  watched  with  intense  anxiety  the  changing  expres- 
sions of  the  youth's  features. 

"  Your  voice  even  more  than  your  features  brings  up  the 
past,"  said  the  lady,  as  a  deadly  pallor  spread  over  her  own 
face,  and  her  lips  trembled  as  she  spoke.  ''Will  you  not 
tell  me  something  of  your  history  ?  " 

"  When  you  have  told  me  the  reason  for  which  you  ask  it, 
perhaps  I  may,"  said  the  youth,  half  sternly. 

"There,  there!"  cried  she,  wildly,  "in  every  tone,  in 
every  gesture,  I  trace  this  resemblance.  Come  nearer  to  me ; 
let  me  see  your  hands." 

"  They  are  seamed  and  hardened  with  toil,  lady,"  said 
the  youth,  as  he  showed  them. 

"  And  yet  they  look  as  if  there  was  a  time  when  they  did 
not  know  labor,"  said  she,  eagerly. 

An  impatient  gesture,  as  if  he  would  not  endure  a  con- 
tinuance of  this  questioning,  stopped  her,  and  she  said  in 
a  faint  tone,  — 

"  I  ask  your  pardon  for  all  this.  My  excuse  and  my 
apology  are  that  your  features  have  recalled  a  time  of  sor- 
row more  vividly  than  any  words  could.  Your  voice,  too, 
strengthens  the  illusion.  It  may  be  a  mere  passing  impres- 
sion; I  hope  and  pray  it  is.  Come,  Ida,  come  with  me. 
Do  not  leave  this,  sir,  till  we  speak  with  you  again."  So 
saying,  she  took  her  niece's  arm  and  left  the  room. 


16 


CHAPTER  XXXin. 

NIGHT    THOUGHTS. 

It  was  with  a  proud  consciousness  of  having  well  fulfilled 
his  mission  that  Billy  Traynor  once  more  bent  his  steps 
towards  Massa.  Besides  providing  himself  with  books  of 
travel  and  maps  of  the  regions  they  were  about  to  visit,  he 
had  ransacked  Genoa  for  weapons,  and  accoutrements,  and 
horse-gear.  Well  knowing  the  youth's  taste  for  the  costly 
and  the  splendid,  he  had  suffered  himself  to  be  seduced  into 
the  purchase  of  a  gorgeously  embroidered  saddle  mounting, 
and  a  rich  bridle,  in  Mexican  taste ;  a  pair  of  splendidly 
mounted  pistols,  chased  in  gold  and  studded  with  large 
turquoises,  with  a  Damascus  sabre,  the  hilt  of  which  was 
a  miracle  of  fine  workmanship,  were  also  amongst  his  acqui- 
sitions ;  and  poor  Billy  fed  his  imagination  with  the  thought 
of  all  the  delight  these  objects  were  certain  to  produce. 
In  this  way  he  never  wearied  admiring  them ;  and  a  dozen 
times  a  day  would  he  unpack  them,  just  to  gratify  his  mind 
by  picturing  the  enjoyment  they  were  to  afford. 

"  How  well  you  are  lookin',  my  dear  boy !  "  cried  he,  as 
he  burst  into  the  youth's  room,  and  threw  his  arms  around 
him  ;  "  't  is  like  ten  years  off  my  life  to  see  you  so  fresh  and 
so  hearty.  Is  it  the  prospect  of  the  glorious  time  before  us 
that  has  given  this  new  spring  to  your  existence  ?  " 

"  More  likely  it  is  the  pleasure  I  feel  in  seeing  you  back 
again,"  said  Massy;  and  his  cheek  grew  crimson  as  he 
spoke. 

"'Tis  too  good  you  are  to  me, — too  good,"  said  Billy, 
and  his  eyes  ran  over  in  tears,  while  he  turned  away  his 
head  to  hide  his  emotion;  *'but  sure  it  is  part  of  yourself 
I  do  be  growing  every  day  I  live.  At  first  I  could  n't  bear 
the  thought  of  going  away  to  live  in  exile,  in  a  wilderness, 


NIGHT  THOUGHTS.  243 

as  one  may  say ;  but  now  that  I  see  your  heart  set  upon  it, 
and  that  your  vigor  and  strength  comes  back  just  by  the 
mere  anticipation  of  it,  I'm  downright  delighted  with  the 
plan." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  the  youth,  dreamily. 

*'  To  be  sure  I  am,"  resumed  Billy  ;  "  and  I  do  be  think- 
ing there 's  a  kind  of  poethry  in  carrying  away  into  the  soli- 
tary pine  forest  minds  stored  with  classic  lore,  to  be  able 
to  read  one's  Horace  beside  the  gushing  stream  that  flows 
on  nameless  and  unknown,  and  con  over  ould  Herodotus 
amidst  adventures  stranger  than  ever  he  told  himself." 

"  It  might  be  a  happy  life,"  said  the  other,  slowly,  almost 
moodily. 

''  Ay,  and  it  will  be,"  said  Billy,  confidently.  "  Think  of 
yourself,  mounted  on  that  saddle  on  a  wild  prairie  horse, 
galloping  free  as  the  wind  itself  over  the  wide  savannas, 
with  a  drove  of  rushing  buffaloes  in  career  before  you,  and 
so  eager  in  pursuit  that  you  won't  stop  to  bring  down  the 
scarlet- winged  bustard  that  swings  on  the  branch  above  you. 
There  they  go,  plungin'  and  snortin',  the  mad  devils,  with  a 
force  that  would  sweep  a  fortress  before  them ;  and  here  are 
we  after  them,  makin'  the  dark  woods  echo  again  with  our  ^ 
wild  yells.  That 's  what  will  warm  up  our  blood,  till  we  '11 
not  be  afeard  to  meet  an  army  of  dragoons  themselves. 
Them  pistols  once  belonged  to  Cariatoke,  a  chief  from  Scio ; 
and  that  blade  —  a  real  Damascus  —  was  worn  by  an  Aga  of 
the  Janissaries.     Isn't  it  a  picture?" 

The  youth  poised  the  sword  in  his  hand,  and  laid  it  down 
without  a  word ;  while  Billy  continued  to  stare  at  him  with 
an  expression  of  intensest  amazement. 

"  Is  it  that  you  don't  care  for  it  all  now,  that  your  mind  is 
changed,  and  that  you  don't  wish  for  the  life  we  were  talkin' 
over  these  three  weeks?  Say  so  at  once,  my  own  darlin*, 
and  here  I  am,  ready  and  willin'  never  to  think  more  of  it. 
Only  tell  me  what's  passin'  in  your  heart;  I  ask  no  more." 

''  I  scarcely  know  it  myself,"  said  the  youth.  "  I  feel  as 
though  in  a  dream,  and  know  not  what  is  real  and  what 
fiction."  . 

"  How  have  you  passed  your  time?  What  were  you  doin' 
while  I  was  away?" 


244         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"Dreaming,  I  believe,"  said  tlie  other,  with  a  sigh. 
' '  Some  embers  of  my  old  ambition  warmed  up  into  a  flame 
once  more,  and  I  fancied  that  there  was  that  in  me  that  by 
toil  and  labor  might  yet  win  upwards ;  and  that,  if  so,  this 
mere  life  of  action  would  but  bring  repining  and  regret,  and 
that  I  should  feel  as  one  who  chose  the  meaner  casket  of 
fate,  when  both  were  within  my  reach." 

' '  So  you  were  at  work  again  in  the  studio  ?  " 

* '  I  have  been  finishing  the  arm  of  the  Faun  in  that  pavilion 
outside  the  town."  A  flush  of  crimson  covered  his  face  as 
he  spoke,  which  Billy  as  quickly  noticed,  but  misinterpreted. 

"Ay,  and  they  praised  you,  I'll  be  bound.  They  said  it 
was  the  work  of  one  whose  genius  would  place  him  with  the 
great  ones  of  art,  and  that  he  who  could  do  this  while  scarcely 
more  than  a  boy,  might,  in  riper  years,  be  the  great  name  of 
his  century.     Did  they  not  tell  you  so  ?  " 

"No;  not  that,  not  that,"  said  the  other,  slowly. 

"  Then  they  bade  you  go  on,  and  strive  and  labor  hard  to 
develop  into  life  the  seeds  of  that  glorious  gift  that  was  in 
you?" 

"  Nor  that,"  sighed  the  youth,  heavily,  while  a  faint  spot 
of  crimson  burned  on  one  cheek,  and  a  feverish  lustre  lit  up 
his  eye. 

"  They  didn't  dispraise  what  you  done,  did  they?"  broke 
in  Billy.  "They  could  not,  if  they  wanted  to  do  it;  but 
sure  there 's  nobody  would  have  the  cruel  heart  to  blight  the 
ripenin'  bud  of  genius,  —  to  throw  gloom  over  a  spirit  that 
has  to  struggle  against  its  own  misgivin's?" 

"You  wrong  them,  my  dear  friend;  their  words  were  all 
kindness  and  affection.  They  gave  me  hope,  and  encourage- 
ment too.  They  fancy  that  I  have  in  me  what  will  one  day 
grow  into  fame  itself;  and  even  you,  Billy,  in  your  most 
sanguine  hopes,  have  never  dreamed  of  greater  success  for 
me  than  they  have  predicted  in  the  calm  of  a  moonlit 
saunter." 

' '  May  the  saints  in  heaven  reward  them  for  it !  "  said 
Billy,  and  in  his  clasped  hands  and  uplifted  eyes  was  all  the 
fervor  of  a  prayer.  "  They  have  my  best  blessin'  for  their 
goodness,"  muttered  he  to  himself. 

"  And  so  I  am  again  a  sculptor !  "  said  Massy,  rising  and 


NIGHT  THOUGHTS.  245 

walking  the  room.  "  Upon  this  career  my  whole  heart  and 
soul  are  henceforth  to  be  concentrated ;  my  fame,  my  happi- 
ness are  to  be  those  of  the  artist.  From  this  day  and  this  hour 
let  every  thought  of  what  —  not  what  I  once  was,  but  what 
I  had  hoped  t©  be,  be  banished  from  my  heart.  I  am  Sebas- 
tian Greppi.  Never  let  another  name  escape  your  lips  to 
me.  I  will  not,  even  for  a  second,  turn  from  the  path  in 
which  my  own  exertions  are  to  win  the  goal.  Let  the  far- 
away land  of  my  infancy,  its  traditions,  its  associations,  be 
but  dreams  for  evermore.  Forwards  !  forwards  !  "  cried  he, 
passionately  ;   "  not  a  glance,  not  a  look,  towards  the  past." 

Billy  stared  with  admiration  at  the  youth,  over  whose 
feature^  a  glow  of  enthusiasm  was  now  diffused,  and  in 
broken,  unconnected  words  spoke  encouragement  and  good 
cheer. 

''  I  know  well,"  said  the  youth,  "  how  this  same  stubborn 
pride  must  be  rooted  out,  how  these  false,  deceitful  visions 
of  a  stand  and  a  station  that  I  am  never  to  attain  must  give 
place  to  nobler  and  higher  aspirations ;  and  you,  my  dearest 
friend,  must  aid  me  in  all  this,  —  unceasingly,  unwearyingly 
reminding  me  that  to  myself  alone  must  I  look  for  anything ; 
and  that  if  I  would  have  a  country,  a  name,  or  a  home,  it 
is  by  the  toil  of  this  head  and  these  hands  they  are  to  be 
won.  My  plan  is  this,"  said  he,  eagerly  seizing  the  other's 
arm,  and  speaking  with  immense  rapidity:  "A  life  not 
alone  of  labor,  but  of  the  simplest ;  not  a  luxury,  not  an 
indulgence ;  our  daily  meals  the  humblest,  our  dress  the 
commonest,  nothing  that  to  provide  shall  demand  a  mo- 
ment's forethought  or  care ;  no  wants  that  shall  turn  our 
thoughts  from  this  great  object,  no  care  for  the  requirements 
that  others  need.  Thus  mastering  small  ambitions  and 
petty  desires,  we  shall  concentrate  all  our  faculties  on  our 
art ;  and  even  the  humblest  may  thus  outstrip  those  whose 
higher  gifts  reject  such  discipline." 

"You'll  not  live  longer  under  the  Duke's  patronage, 
then?"  said  Traynor. 

* '  Not  an  hour.  I  return  to  that  garden  no  more. 
There  's  a  cottage  on  the  mountain  road  to  Serravezza  will 
suit  us  well:  it  stands  alone  and  on  an  eminence,  with  a 
view  over  the  plain  and  the  sea  beyond.     You  can  see  it 


246        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

from  the  door,  —  there,  to  the  left  of  the  olive  wood,  lower 
down  than  the  old  ruin.  We  '11  live  there,  Billy,  and  we  '11 
make  of  that  mean  spot  a  hallowed  one,  where  young  en- 
thusiasts in  art  will  come,  years  hence,  when  we  have  passed 
away,  to  see  the  humble  home  Sebastian  lived  in,  —  to  sit 
upon  the  grassy  seat  where  he  once  sat,  when  dreaming  of 
the  mighty  triumphs  that  have  made  him  glorious."  A  wild 
burst  of  mocking  laughter  rung  from  the  boy's  lips  as  he 
said  this ;  but  its  accents  were  less  in  derision  of  the  boast 
than  a  species  of  hysterical  ecstasy  at  the  vision  he  had 
conjured  up. 

"  And  why  would  n't  it  be  so?  "  exclaimed  Billy,  ardently, 
—  "  why  would  n't  you  be  great  and  illustrious?  " 

The  moment  of  excitement  was  now  over,  and  the  youth 
stood  pale,  silent,  and  almost  sickly  in  appearance ;  great 
drops  of  perspiration,  too,  stood  on  his  forehead,  and  his 
quivering  lips  were  bloodless. 

"  These  visions  are  like  meteor  streaks,"  said  he,  falter- 
ingly  ;  "  they  leave  the  sky  blacker  than  they  found  it !  But 
come  along,  let  us  to  work,  and  we  '11  soon  forget  mere 
speculation." 

Of  the  life  they  now  led  each  day  exactly  resembled  the 
other.  Rising  early,  the  youth  was  in  his  studio  at  dawn ; 
the  faithful  Billy,  seated  near,  read  for  him  while  he  worked. 
Watching,  with  a  tact  that  only  affection  ever  bestows,  each 
changeful  mood  of  the  youth's  mind,  Traynor  varied  the 
topics  with  the  varying  humors  of  the  other,  and  thus  little 
of  actual  conversation  took  place  between  them,  though 
their  minds  journeyed  along  together.  To  eke  out  sub- 
sistence, even  humble  as  theirs,  the  young  sculptor  was 
obliged  to  make  small  busts  and  figures  for  sale,  and  Billy 
disposed  of  them  at  Lucca  and  Pisa,  making  short  excur- 
sions to  these  cities  as  need  required. 

The  toil  of  the  day  over,  they  wandered  out  towards 
the  seashore,  taking  the  path  which  led  through  the  olive 
road  by  the  garden  of  the  villa.  At  times  the  youth  would 
steal  away  a  moment  from  his  companion,  and  enter  the 
little  park,  with  every  avenue  of  which  he  was  familiar; 
and  although  Billy  noticed  his  absence,  he  strictly  abstained 
from  the   slightest   allusion  to  it.     As   he   delayed   longer 


NIGHT  THOUGHTS.  247 

and  longer  to  return,  Traynor  maintained  the  same  reserve, 
and  thus  there  grew  up  gradually  a  secret  between  them, 
—  a  mystery  that  neither  ventured  to  approach.  With 
a  delicacy  that  seemed  an  instinct  in  his  humble  nature, 
Billy  would  now  and  then  feign  occupation  or  fatigue  to 
excuse  himself  from  the  evening  stroll,  and  thus  leave  the 
youth  free  to  wander  as  he  wished ;  till  at  length  it  became 
a  settled  habit  between  them  to  separate  at  nightfall,  to 
meet  only  on  the  morrow.  These  nights  were  spent  in  walk- 
ing the  garden  around  the  villa,  lingering  stealthily  amid 
the  trees  to  watch  the  room  where  she  was  sitting,  to  catch 
a  momentary  glimpse  of  her  figure  as  it  passed  the  window, 
to  hear  perchance  a  few  faint  accents  of  her  voice.  Hours 
long  would  he  so  watch  in  the  silent  night,  his  whole  soul 
steeped  in  a  delicious  dream  wherein  her  image  moved,  and 
came  and  went,  with  every  passing  fancy.  In  the  calm 
moonlight  he  would  try  to  trace  her  footsteps  in  the  gravel 
walk  that  led  to  the  studio,  and,  lingering  near  them,  whisper 
to  her  words  of  love. 

One  night,  as  he  loitered  thus,  he  thought  he  was  per- 
ceived, for  as  he  suddenly  emerged  from  a  dark  alley  into 
a  broad  space  where  the  moonlight  fell  strongly,  he  saw  a 
figure  on  a  terrace  above  him,  but  without  being  able  to 
recognize  to  whom  it  belonged.  Timidly  and  fearfully  he 
retired  within  the  shade,  and  crept  noiselessly  away,  shocked 
at  the  very  thought  of  discovery.  The  next  day  he  found 
a  small  bouquet  of  fresh  flowers  on  the  rustic  seat  beneath 
the  window.  At  first  he  scarcely  dared  to  touch  it;  but 
with  a  sudden  flash  of  hope  that  it  had  been  destined  for 
himself,  he  pressed  the  flowers  to  his  lips,  and  hid  them  in 
his  bosom.  Each  night  now  the  same  present  attracted  him 
to  the  same  place,  and  thus  at  once  within  his  heart  was 
lighted  a  flame  of  hope  that  illuminated  all  his  being,  making 
his  whole  life  a  glorious  episode,  and  filling  all  the  long 
hours  of  the  day  with  thoughts  of  her  who  thus  could  think 
of  him. 

Life  has  its  triumphant  moments,  its  dream  of  entrancing, 
ecstatic  delight,  when  success  has  crowned  a  hard-fought 
struggle,  or  when  the  meed  of  other  men's  praise  comes 
showered  on  us.     The  triumphs  of  heroism,  of  intellect,  of 


248        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

noble  endurance ;  the  trials  of  temptation  met  and  con- 
quered ;  the  glorious  victory  over  self-interest,  —  are  all 
great  and  ennobling  sensations ;  but  what  are  they  all  com- 
pared with  the  first  consciousness  of  being  loved,  of  being 
to  another  the  ideal  we  have  made  of  her?  To  this,  nothing 
the  world  can  give  is  equal.  From  the  moment  we  have 
felt  it,  life  changes  around  us.  Its  crosses  are  but  barriers 
opposed  to  our  strong  will,  that  to  assail  and  storm  is  a  duty. 
Then  comes  a  heroism  in  meeting  the  every-day  troubles  of 
existence,  as  though  we  were  soldiers  in  a  good  and  holy 
cause.  No  longer  unseen  or  unmarked  in  the  great  ocean 
of  life,  we  feel  that  there  is  an  eye  ever  turned  towards  us, 
a  heart  ever  throbbing  with  our  own;  that  our  triumphs 
are  its  triumphs,  —  our  sorrows  its  sorrows.  Apart  from  all 
the  intercourse  with  the  world,  with  its  changeful  good  and 
evil,  we  feel  that  we  have  a  treasure  that  dangers  cannot 
approach ;  we  know  that  in  our  heart  of  hearts  a  blessed 
mystery  is  locked  up,  —  a  well  of  pure  thoughts  that  can 
calm  down  the  most  fevered  hour  of  life's  anxieties.  So  the 
youth  felt,  and,  feeling  so,  was  happy. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

A  minister's  letter. 

British  Legation,  Naples, 
Nov ,  18-. 

My  dear  Harcourt,  —  Not  mine  the  fault  that  your  letter  has 
lain  six  weeks  unanswered ;  but  having  given  up  penwork  myself 
for  the  last  eight  months,  and  Crawley,  my  private  sec,  being 
ill,  the  delay  was  unavoidable.  The  present  communication  you 
owe  to  the  fortunate  arrival  here  of  Captain  Mellish,  who  has  kindly 
volunteered  to  be  my  amanuensis.  I  am  indeed  sorely  grieved  at 
this  delay.  I  shall  be  desole  if  it  occasion  you  anything  beyond 
inconvenience.  How  a  private  sec.  should  permit  himself  the 
luxury  of  an  attack  of  influenza  I  cannot  conceive.  We  shall 
hear  of  one's  hairdresser  having  the  impertinence  to  catch  cold, 
to-morrow  or  next  day !  ' 

If  I  don't  mistake,  it  was  you  yourself  recommended  Crawley  to 
me,  and  I  am  only  half  grateful  for  the  service.  He  is  a  man 
of  small  prejudices ;  fancies  that  he  ought  to  have  a  regular 
hour  for  dinner ;  thinks  that  he  should  have  acquaintances ; 
and  will  persist  in  imagining  himself  an  existent  something, 
appertaining  to  the  Legation,  —  while,  in  reality,  he  is  only  a 
shadowy  excrescence  of  my  own  indolent  habits,  the  recipient  of 
the  trashy  superfluities  one  commits  to  paper  and  calls  despatches. 
Latterly,  in  my  increasing  laziness,  I  have  used  him  for  more 
intimate  correspondence  ;  and,  as  Doctor  AUitore  has  now  denied 
me  all  manual  exertion  whatever,  I  am  actually  wholly  dependent 
on  such  aid.  I'm  sure  I  long  for  the  discovery  of  some  other 
mode  of  transmitting  one's  brain-efforts  than  by  the  slow  process 
of  manuscript,  —  some  photographic  process  that,  by  a  series  of 
bright  pictures,  might  display  en  tableau  what  one  is  now  reduced 
to  accomplish  by  narrative.  As  it  ever  did  and  ever  will  happen 
too,  they  have  deluged  me  with  work  when  I  crave  rest.  Every 
session  of  Parliament  must  have  its  blue-book ;  and  by  the  devil's 
luck  they  have  decided  that  Italy  is  to  furnish  the  present  one. 

You  have  always  been  a  soldier,  and  whenever  your  inspecting 
general  came  his  round,  your  whole  care  has  been  to  make  the 
troop  horses  look  as  fat,  the  men's  whiskers  as  trim,  their  overalls 


250        THE  rORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

as  clean,  and  their  curb-chains  as  bright,  as  possible.  You  never 
imagined  or  dreamed  of  a  contingency  when  it  would  be  desirable 
that  the  animals  should  be  all  sorebacked,  the  whole  regiment 
under  stoppages,  and  the  trumpeter  in  a  quinsy.  Had  you  been 
a  diplomatist  instead  of  a  dragoon,  this  view  of  things  might, 
perhaps,  have  presented  itself,  and  the  chief  object  of  your  desire 
have  been  to  show  that  the  system  under  which  you  functionated 
worked  as  ill  as  need  be  ;  that  the  court  to  which  you  were 
accredited  abhorred  you  ;  its  Ministers  snubbed,  its  small  officials 
slighted  you  ;  that  all  your  communications  were  ill  received,  your 
counsels  ill  taken ;  that  what  you  reprobated  was  adopted,  what 
you  advised  rejected  ;  in  fact,  that  the  only  result  of  your  presence 
was  the  maintenance  of  a  perpetual  ill-will  and  bad  feeling ;  and 
that  without  the  aid  of  a  line-of -battle  ship,  or  at  least  a  frigate, 
your  position  was  no  longer  tenable.     From  the  moment,  my  dear 

H ,  that  you  can  establish  this  fact,  you  start  into  life  as  an  able 

and  active  Minister,  imbued  with  thoroughly  British  principles 
—  an  active  asserter  of  what  is  due  to  his  country's  rights  and 
dignity,  not  truckling  to  court  favor,  or  tamely  submitting  to 
royal  impertinences ;  not  like  the  noble  lord  at  this  place,  or 
the  more  subservient  viscount  at  that,  but,  in  plain  words,  an 
admirable  public  servant,  whose  reward,  whatever  courts  and 
cabinets  may  do,  will  always  bef  willingly  accorded  by  a  grateful 
nation. 

I  am  afraid  this  sketch  of  a  special  envoy's  career  will  scarcely 
tempt  you  to  exchange  for  a  mission  abroad  1  And  you  are  quite 
right,  my  dear  friend.  It  is  a  very  unrewarding  profession.  I 
often  wish  myself  that  I  had  taken  something  in  the  colonies,  or 
gone  into  the  Church,  or  some  other  career  which  had  given  me 
time  and  opportunity  to  look  after  my  health, — of  which,  by  the 
way,  I  have  but  an  indiiferent  account  to  render  you.  These 
people  here  can't  hit  it  off  at  all,  Harcourt ;  they  keep  muddling 
away  about  indigestion,  deranged  functions,  and  the  rest  of  it. 
The  mischief  is  in  the  blood,  — I  mean,  in  the  undue  distribution  of 
the  blood.  So  Treysenac,  the  man  of  Bagnferes,  proved  to  me. 
There  is  a  flux  and  reflux  in  us,  as  in  the  tides,  and  when,  from 
deficient  energy  or  lax  muscular  power,  that  ceases,  we  are  all 
driven  by  artificial  means  to  remedy  the  defect.  Treysenac's 
theory  is  position.  By  a  number  of  ingeniously  contrived  posi- 
tions he  accomplishes  an  artificial  congestion  of  any  part  he 
pleases ;  and  in  his  establishment  at  Bagnferes  you  may  see  some 
fifty  people  strung  up  by  the  arms  and  legs,  by  the  waists  or  the 
ankles,  in  the  most  marvellous  manner,  and  with  truly  fabulous 
success.  I  myself  passed  three  mornings  suspended  by  the  mid- 
dle, like  the  sheep  in  the  decoration  of  the  Golden  Fleece,  and 


A  MINISTER'S  LETTER.  251 

was  amazed  at  the  strange  sensations  I  experienced  before  I  was 
cut  down.  • 

You  know  the  obstinacy  with  which  the  medical  people  reject 
every  discovery  in  the  art,  and  only  sanction  its  employment  when 
the  world  has  decreed  in  its  favor.  You  will,  therefore,  not  be 
surprised  to  hear  that  Larrey  and  Cooper,  to  whom  I  wrote  about 
Treysenac's  theory,  sent  me  very  unsatisfactory,  indeed  very 
unseemly,  replies.  I  have  resolved,  however,  not  to  let  the  thing 
drop,  and  am  determined  to  originate  a  Suspensorium  in  England, 
when  I  can  chance  upon  a  man  of  intelligence  and  scientific 
knowledge  to  conduct  it.  Like  mesmerism,  the  system  has  its 
antipathies ;  and  thus  yesterday  Crawley  fainted  twice  after  a  few 
minutes'  suspension  by  the  arms.  But  he  is  a  bigot  about  any- 
thing he  hears  for  the  first  time,  and  I  was  not  sorry  at  his 
punishment. 

I  wish  you  would  talk  over  this  matter  with  any  clever  medical 
man  in  your  neighborhood,  and  let  me  hear  the  result. 

And  so  you  are  surprised,  you  say,  how  little  influence  English 
representations  exercise  over  the  determinations  of  foreign  cabi- 
nets. I  go  farther,  and  confess  no  astonishment  at  all  at  the  no- 
influence  !  My  dear  dragoon,  have  you  not,  some  hundred  and 
fifty  times  in  this  life,  endured  a  small  martyrdom  in  seeing  a 
very  indifferent  rider  torment  almost  to  madness  the  animal  he 
bestrode,  just  by  sheer  ignorance  and  awkwardness,  —  now  worry- 
ing the  flank  with  incautious  heel,  now  irritating  the  soft  side  of 
the  mouth  with  incessant  jerkings ;  always  counteracting  the 
good  impulses,  ever  prompting  the  bad  ones  of  his  beast  ?  And 
have  you  not,  while  heartily  wishing  yourself  in  the  saddle,  felt 
the  ntter  inutility  of  administering  any  counsels  to  the  rider? 
You  saw,  and  rightly  saw,  that  even  if  he  attempted  to  follow 
your  suggestions,  he  would  do  so  awkwardly  and  inaptly,  acting  at 
wrong  moments  and  without  that  continuity  of  purpose  which 
must  ever  accompany  an  act  of  address ;  and  that  for  his  safety, 
and  even  for  the  welfare  of  the  animal,  it  were  as  well  they  should 
jog  on  together  as  they  had  done,  trusting  that  after  a  time  they 
might  establish  a  sort  of  compromise,  endurable,  if  not  beneficial, 
to  both. 

Such,  my  dear  friend,  in  brief,  is  the  state  of  many  of  those 
foreign  governments  to  whom  we  are  so  profuse  of  our  wise  coun- 
sels. It  were  doubtless  much  better  if  they  ruled  well ;  but  let  us 
see  if  the  road  to  this  knotty  consummation  be  by  the  adoption 
of  methods  totally  new  to  them,  estranged  from  all  their  instincts 
and  habits,  and  full  of  perils  which  their  very  fears  will  exagger- 
ate. Constitutional  governments,  like  underdone  roast  beef,  suit 
our  natures  and  our  latitude ;  but  they  would  seem  lamentable 


252        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

experiments  when  tried  south  of  the  Alps.  Liberty  with  us  means 
the  right  to  break  heads  at  a  county  election,  and  to  print  im- 
pertinences in  newspapers.  With  the  Spaniard  or  the  Italian 
it  would  be  to  carry  a  poniard  more  openly,  and  use  it  more 
frequently  than  at  present. 

At  all  events,  if  it  be  any  satisfaction  to  you,  you  may  be 
assured  that  the  rulers  in  all  these  cases  are  not  much  better  off 
than  those  they  rule  over.  They  lead  lives  of  incessant  terror, 
distrust,  and  anxiety.  Their  existence  is  poisoned  by  ceaseless 
fears  of  treachery,  —  they  know  not  where.  They  change  minis- 
ters as  travellers  change  the  direction  of  their  journey,  to  discon- 
cert the  supposed  plans  of  their  enemies;  and  they  vacillate 
between  cruelty  and  mercy,  really  not  knowing  in  which  lies 
their  safety.  Don't  fancy  that  they  have  any  innate  pleasure  in 
harsh  measures.  The  likelihood  is,  they  hate  them  as  much  as 
you  do  yourself ;  but  they  know  no  other  system ;  and,  to  come 
back  to  my  cavalry  illustration,  the  only  time  they  tried  a  snaffle, 
they  were  run  away  with. 

I  trust  these  prosings  will  be  a  warning  to  you  how  you  touch 
upon  politics  again  in  a  letter  to  me ;  but  I  really  did  not  wish  to 
be  a  bore,  and  now  here  I  am,  ready  to  answer,  as  far  as  in  me 
lies,  all  your  interrogatories;  first  premising  that  I  am  not  at 
liberty  to  enter  upon  the  question  of  Glencore  himself,  and  for  the 
simple  reason  that  he  has  made  me  his  confidant.  And  now,  as 
to  the  boy,  I  could  make  nothing  of  him,  Harcourt ;  and  for  this 
reason,  —  he  had  not  what  sailors  call  "  steerage  way  "  on  him.  He 
went  wherever  you  bade,  but  without  an  impulse.  I  tried  to  make 
him  care  for  his  career ;  for  the  gay  world ;  for  the  butterfly 
life  of  young  diplomacy ;  for  certain  dissipations,  —  excellent 
things  occasionally  to  develop  nascent  faculties.  I  endeavored 
to  interest  him  by  literary  society  and  savans,  but  unsuccessfully. 
For  art  indeed  he  showed  *ome  disposition,  and  modelled  prettily ; 
but  it  never  rose  above  "  amateurship."  I^ow,  enthusiasm,  although 
a  very  excellent  ingredient,  will  no  more  make  an  artist  than  a 
brisk  kitchen  fire  will  provide  a  dinner  where  all  the  materials  are 
wanting. 

I  began  to  despair  of  him,  Harcourt,  when  I  saw  that  there 
were  no  features  about  him.  He  could  do  everything  reasonably 
well,  because  there  was  no  hope  of  his  doing  anything  with  real 
excellence.  He  wandered  away  from  me  to  Carrara,  with  his 
quaint  companion  the  Doctor ;  and  after  some  months  wrote  me 
rather  a  sturdy  letter,  rejecting  all  moneyed  advances,  past  and 
future,  and  saying  something  very  haughty,  and  of  course  very 
stupid,  about  the  "glorious  sense  of  independence."  I  replied, 
but  he  never  answered  me;  and  here  might  have  ended  all  my 


A  MINISTER'S  LETTER.  253 

knowledge  of  his  history,  had  not  a  letter,  of  which  I  send  you  an 
extract,  resumed  the  narrative.  The  writer  is  the  Princess  Sab- 
loukoff,  a  lady  of  whose  attractions  and  fascinations  you  have 
often  heard  me  speak.  When  you  have  read^  and  thought  over 
the  enclosed,  let  me  have  your  opinion.  I  do  not,  I  cannot, 
believe  in  the  rumor  you  allude  to.  Glencore  is  not  the  man  to 
marry  at  his  time  of  life,  and  in  his  circumstances.  Send  me, 
however,  all  the  particulars  you  are  in  possession  of.  I  hope  they 
don't  mean  to  send  you  to  India,  because  you  seem  to  dislike  it. 
For  my  own  part,  I  suspect  I  should  enjoy  that  country  immensely. 
Heat  is  the  first  element  of  daily  comfort,  and  all  the  appliances 
to  moderate  it  are  ex-officio  luxuries ;  besides  that  in  India  there  is 
a  splendid  and  enlarged  selfishness  in  the  mode  of  life  very  dif- 
ferent from  the  petty  egotisms  of  our  rude  Northland. 

If  you  do  go,  pray  take  Naples  in  the  way.  The  route  by 
Alexandria  and  Suez,  they  all  tell  me,  is  the  best  and  most 
expeditious. 

Mellish  desires  me  to  add  his  remembrances,  hoping  you  have  not 
forgotten  him.  He  served  in  the  "  Fifth  "  with  you  in  Canada,  — 
that  is,  if  you  be  the  same  George  Harcourt  who  played  Tony 
Lumpkin  so  execrably  at  Montreal.  I  have  told  him  it  is  prob- 
able, and  am  yours  ever, 

H.  U. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

harcourt's  lodgings. 

When  Harcourt  had  finished  the  reading  of  that  letter  we 
have  presented  in  our  last  chapter,  he  naturally  turned  for 
information  on  the  subject  which  principally  interested  him 
to  the  enclosure.  It  was  a  somewhat  bulky  packet,  and, 
from  its  size,  at  once  promised  very  full  and  ample  details. 
As  he  opened  it,  however,  he  discovered  it  was  in  various 
handwritings ;  but  his  surprise  was  further  increased  by  the 
following  heading,  in  large  letters,  in  the  top  of  a  page: 
''  Sulphur  Question,"  and  beginning,  "  My  Lord,  by  a  refer- 
ence to  my  despatch.  No.  478,  you  will  perceive  that  the 
difficulties  which  the  Neapolitan  Government  —  "  Harcourt 
turned  over  the  page.  It  was  all  in  the  same  strain.  Tar- 
iffs, treaties,  dues,  and  duties  occurred  in  every  line.  Three 
other  documents  of  like  nature  accompanied  this ;  after 
which  came  a  very  ill- written  scrawl  on  coarse  paper,  entitled, 
"  Hints  as  to  diet  and  daily  exercise  for  his  Excellency's 
use." 

The  honest  Colonel,  who  was  not  the  quickest  of  men, 
was  some  time  before  he  succeeded  in  unravelling  to  his 
satisfaction  the  mystery  before  him,  and  recognizing  that 
the  papers  on  his  table  had  been  destined  for  a  different 
address,  while  the  letter  of  the  Princess  had,  in  all  proba- 
bility, been  despatched  to  the  Foreign  Office,  and  was  now 
either  confounding  or  amusing  the  authorities  in  Downing 
Street.  While  Harcourt  laughed  over  the  blunder,  he 
derived  no  small  gratification  from  thinking  that  nothing 
but  great  geniuses  ever  fell  into  these  mistakes,  and  was 
about  to  write  off  in  this  very  spirit  to  Upton,  when  he 
suddenly  bethought  him  that,  before  an  answer  could 
arrive,  he  himself  would  be  far  away  on  his  journey  tp 
India. 


HARCOURT'S  LODGINGS.  255 

"I  asked  nothing,"  said  he,  "that  could  be  difficult  to 
reply  to.  It  was  plain  enough,  too,  that  I  only  wanted  such 
information  as  he  could  have  given  me  off-hand.  If  I  could 
but  assure  Glencore  that  the  boy  was  worthy  of  him,  — 
that  there  was  stuff  to  give  good  promise  of  future  excel- 
lence, that  he  was  honorable  and  manly  in  all  his  dealings, 
— who  knows  what  effect  such  assurance  might  have  had? 
There  are  days  when  it  strikes  me  Glencore  would  give  half 
his  fortune  to  have  the  youth  beside  him,  and  be  able  to  call 
him  his  own.  Why  he  cannot,  does  not  do  it,  is  a  mystery 
which  I  am  unable  to  fathom.  He  never  gave  me  his  confi- 
dence on  this  head;  indeed,  he  gave  me  something  like  a 
rebuff  one  evening,  when  he  erroneously  fancied  that  I 
wanted  to  probe  the  mysterious  secret.  It  shows  how  much 
he  knows  of  my  nature,"  added  he,  laughing.  ''  Why,  I'd 
rather  carry  a  man's  trunk  or  his  portmanteau  on  my  back 
than  his  family  secrets  in  my  heart.  I  could  rest  and  lay 
down  my  burden  in  the  one  case,  —  in  the  other,  there  's 
never  a  moment  of  repose !  And  now  Glencore  is  to  be  here 
this  very  day  —  the  ninth  —  to  learn  my  news.  The  poor 
fellow  comes  up  from  Wales,  just  to  talk  over  these  matters, 
and  I  have  nothing  to  offer  him  but  this  blundering  epistle. 
Ay,  here  's  the  letter :  — 

"  Dear  Harcourt,  —  Let  me  have  a  mutton-chop  with  you  on 
the  ninth,  and  give  me,  if  you  can,  the  evening  after  it. 

"  Yours, 

"  Glencore. 

"  A  man  must  be  ill  off  for  counsel  and  advice  when  he 
thinks  of  such  aid  as  mine.  Heaven  knows,  I  never  was 
such  a  brilliant  manager  of  my  own  fortunes  that  any  one 
should  trust  his  destinies  in  my  hands.  Well,  he  shall  have 
the  mutton-chop,  and  a  good  glass  of  old  port  after  it ;  and 
the  evening,  or,  if  he  likes  it,  the  night  shall  be  at  his  dis- 
posal." And  with  this  resolve,  Harcourt,  having  given 
orders  for  dinner  at  six,  issued  forth  to  stroll  down  to  his 
club,  and  drop  in  at  the  Horse  Guards,  and  learn  as  much 
as  he  could  of  the  passing  events  of  the  day,  —  meaning, 
thereby,  the  details  of  whatever  regarded  the  army-list,  and 
those  who  walk  in  scarlet  attke. 


256        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

It  was  about  five  o'clock  of  a  dreary  November  afternoon 
that  a  hackney-coach  drew  up  at  Harcourt's  lodgings  in 
Dover  Street,  and  a  tall  and  very  sickly  looking  man,  carry- 
ing his  carpet-bag  in  one  hand  and  a  dressing-case  in  the 
other,  descended  and  entered  the  house. 

"Mr.  Massy,  sir?"  said  the  Colonel's  servant,  as  he 
ushered  him  in ;  for  such  was  the  name  Glencore  desired  to 
be  known  by.  And  the  stranger  nodded,  and  throwing 
himself  wearily  down  on  a  sofa,  seemed  overcome  with 
fatigue. 

"  Is  your  master  out?  "  asked  he,  at  length. 

"Yes,  sir;  but  I  expect  him  immediately.  Dinner  was 
ordered  for  six,  and  he'll  be  back  to  dress  half  an  hour 
before  that  time." 

"  Dinner  for  two?  "  half  impatiently  asked  the  other. 

"Yes,  sir,  for  two." 

"And  all  visitors  in  the  evening  denied  admittance? 
Did  your  master  say  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  out  for  every  one." 

Glencore  now  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  re- 
lapsed into  silence.  At  length  he  lifted  his  eyes  till  they 
fell  upon  a  colored  drawing  over  the  chimney.  It  was  an 
officer  in  hussar  uniform,  mounted  on  a  splendid  charger, 
and  seated  with  all  the  graceful  ease  of  a  consummate 
horseman.  This  much  alone  he  could  perceive  from  where 
he  lay,  and  indolently  raising  himself  on  one  arm,  he  asked 
if  it  were  "  a  portrait  of  his  master"? 

"No,  sir;  of  my  master's  colonel.  Lord  Glencore,  when 
he  commanded  the  Eighth,  and  was  said  to  be  the  hand- 
somest man  in  the  service." 

"  Show  it  to  me  !  "  cried  he,  eagerly,  and  almost  snatched 
the  drawing  from  the  other's  hands.  He  gazed  at  it  intently 
and  fixedly,  and  his  sallow  cheek  once  reddened  slightly  as 
he  continued  to  look. 

"  That  never  was  a  likeness  !  "  said  he,  bitterly. 

"  My  master  thinks  it  a  wonderful  resemblance,  sir,  — not 
of  what  he  is  now,  of  course;  but  that  was  taken  fifteen 
years  ago  or  more." 

"  And  is  he  so  changed  since  that?  "  asked  the  sick  man, 
plaintively. 


HARCOURT'S  LODGINGS.  257 

"  So  I  hear,  sir.  He  had  a  stroke  of  some  kind,  or  fit  of 
one  sort  or  another,  brought  on  by  fretting.  They  took 
away  his  title,  I'm  told.  They  made  out  that  he  had  no 
right  to  it,  that  he  was  n't  the  real  lord.  But  here  's  the 
Colonel,  sir ;  "  and  almost  as  he  spoke,  Harcourt's  step  was 
on  the  stair.  The  next  moment  his  hand  was  cordially 
clasped  in  that  of  his  guest. 

* '  I  scarcely  expected  you  before  six ;  and  how  have  you 
borne  the  journey?"  cried  he,  taking  a  seat  beside  the  sofa. 
A  gentle  motion  of  the  eyebrows  gave  the  reply. 

''  Well,  well,  you'll  be  all  right  after  the  soup.  Marcom, 
serve  the  dinner  at  once.  I'll  not  dress.  And  mind,  no 
admittance  to  any  one." 

"  You  have  heard  from  Upton?  "  asked  Glencore. 

"  Yes." 

*' And  satisfactorily?  "  asked  he,  more  anxiously. 

"  Quite  so;  but  you  shall  know  all  by  and  by.  I  have 
got  mackerel  for  you.  It  was  a  favorite  dish  of  yours  long 
ago,  and  you  shall  taste  such  mutton  as  your  Welsh  moun- 
tains can't  equal.  I  got  the  haunch  from  the  Ardennes  a 
week  ago,  and  kept  it  for  you."  / 

"I  wish  I  deserved  such  generous  fare;  but  I  have  only 
an  invalid's  stomach,"  said  Glencore,  smiling  faintly. 

* '  You  shall  be  reported  well,  and  fit  for  duty  to-day,  or 
my  name  is  not  George  Harcourt.  The  strongest  and 
toughest  fellow  that  ever  lived  could  n't  stand  up  against  the 
united  effects  of  low  diet  and  low  spirits.  To  act  generously 
and  think  generously,  you  must  live  generously,  take  plenty 
of  exercise,  breathe  fresh  air,  and  know  what  it  is  to  be 
downright  weary  when  you  go  to  bed,  —  not  bored,  mark  you, 
for  that's  another  thing.  Now,  here  comes  the  soup,  and 
you  shall  tell  me  whether  turtle  be  not  the  best  restorative  a 
man  ever  took  after  twelve  hours  of  the  road." 

Whether  tempted  by  the  fare,  or  anxious  to  gratify  the 
hospitable  wishes  of  his  host,  Glencore  ate  heartily,  and 
drank  what  for  his  abstemious  habit  was  freely,  and,  so  far 
as  a  more  genial  air  and  a  more  ready  smile  went,  fully 
justified  Harcourt's  anticipations. 

'*By  Jove!  you're  more  like  yourself  than  I  have  seen 
you  this  many  a  day,"  said  the  Colonel,  as  they  drew  their 

17 


258        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

chairs  towards  the  fire,  and  sat  with  that  now  banished,  but 
ever  to  be  regretted,  little  spider-table,  that  once  emblema- 
tized after-dinner  blessedness,  between  them.  "  This  re- 
minds one  of  long  ago,  Glencore,  and  I  don't  see  why  we 
cannot  bring  to  the  hour  some  of  the  cheerfulness  that  we 
once  boasted." 

A  faint,  very  faint  smile,  with  more  of  sorrow  than  joy  in 
it,  was  the  other's  only  reply. 

"Look  at  the  thing  this  way,  Glencore,"  said  Harcourt, 
eagerly.  "  So  long  as  a  man  has,  either  by  his  fortune  or 
by  his  personal  qualities,  the  means  of  benefiting  others, 
there  is  a  downright  selfishness  in  shutting  himself  up  in 
his  sorrow,  and  saying  to  the  world,  '  My  own  griefs  are 
enough  for  me ;  I  '11  take  no  care  or  share  in  yours.'  Now, 
there  never  was  a  fellow  with  less  of  this  selfishness  than 
you-" 

"  Do  not  speak  to  me  of  what  I  was,  my  dear  friend. 
There 's  not  a  plank  of  the  old  craft  remaining.  The  name 
alone  lingers,  and  even  that  will  soon  be  extinct." 

"  So,  then,  you  still  hold  to  this  stern  resolution?  Shall 
I  tell  you  what  I  think  of  it?  " 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  not  do  so,"  said  Glencore, 
sternly. 

"By  Jove!  then,  I  will,  just  for  that  menace,"  said 
Harcourt.  "I  said,  'This  is  vengeance  on  Glencore's 
part.' " 

"  To  whom,  sir,  did  you  make  this  remark?  " 

"  To  myself,  of  course.  I  never  alluded  to  the  matter  to 
any  other;  never." 

"So  far,  well,"  said  Glencore,  solemnly;  "for  had  you 
done  so,  we  had  never  exchanged  words  again !  " 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Harcourt,  laying  his  hand  affec- 
tionately on  the  other's,  "  I  can  well  imagine  the  price  a 
sensitive  nature  like  yours  must  pay  for  the  friendship  of 
one  so  little  gifted  with  tact  as  I  am.  But  remember 
always  that  there 's  this  advantage  in  the  intercourse :  you 
can  afford  to  hear  and  bear  things  from  a  man  of  my  stamp, 
that  would  be  outrages  from  perhaps  the  lips  of  a  brother. 
As  Upton,  in  one  of  his  bland  moments,  once  said  to  me, 
'  Fellows  like  you,  Harcourt,  are  the  bitters  of  the  human 


HARCOURT'S  LODGINGS.  259 

pharmacopoeia,  —  somewhat  hard  to  take,  but  very  whole- 
some when  you're  once  swallowed.'" 

"  You  are  the  best  of  the  triad,  and  no  great  praise  that, 
either,"  muttered  Glencore  to  himself.  After  a  pause,  he 
continued:  "It  has  not  been  from  any  distrust  in  your 
friendship,  Harcourt,  that  I  have  not  spoken  to  you  before 
on  this  gloomy  subject.  I  know  well  that  you  bear  me 
more  affection  than  any  one  of  all  those  who  call  themselves 
my  friends;  but  when  a  man  is  about  to  do  that  which 
never  can  meet  approval  from  those  who  love  him,  he  seeks 
no  counsel,  he  invites  no  confidence.  Like  the  gambler, 
who  risks  all  on  a  single  throw,  he  makes  his  venture  from 
the  impulse  of  a  secret  mysterious  prompting  within,  that 
whispers,  '  With  this  you  are  rescued  or  ruined  !  '  Advice, 
counsel!  "  cried  he,  in  bitter  mockery,  "  tell  me,  when  have 
such  ever  alleviated  the  tortures  of  a  painful  malady  ?  Have 
you  ever  heard  that  the  writhings  of  the  sick  man  were 
calmed  by  the  honeyed  words  of  his  friends  at  the  bedside? 
I"  —  here  his  voice  became  full  and  loud  —  "I  was  bur- 
dened with  a  load  too  great  for  me  to  bear.  It  had  bowed 
me  to  the  earth,  and  all  but  crushed  me !  The  sense  of  an 
unaccomplished  vengeance  was  like  a  debt  which,  unrequited 
ere  I  died,  sent  me  to  my  grave  dishonored.  Which  of  you 
all  could  tell  me  how  to  endure  this?  What  shape  could 
your  philosophy  assume?" 

"  Then  I  guessed  aright,"  broke  in  Harcourt.  "  This  was 
done  in  vengeance." 

"  I  have  no  reckoning  to  render  you,  sir,"  said  Glencore, 
haughtily;  "for  any  confidence  of  mine,  you  are  more 
indebted  to  my  passion  than  to  my  inclination.  I  came  up 
here  to  speak  and  confer  with  you  about  this  boy,  whose 
guardianship  you  are  unable  to  continue  longer.  Let  us 
speak  of  that." 

"Yes,"  said  Harcourt,  in  his  habitual  tone  of  easy  good 
humor,  "  they  are  going  to  send  me  out  to  India  again.  I 
have  had  eighteen  years  of  it  already ;  but  I  have  no  Parlia- 
mentary influence,  nor  could  I  trace  a  fortieth  cousinship 
with  the  House  of  Lords ;  but,  after  all,  it  might  be  worse. 
Now,  as  to  this  lad,  what  if  I  were  to  take  him  out  with  me  ? 


260        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

This  artist  life  that  he  seems  to  have  adopted  scarcely 
promises  much." 

"  Let  me  see  Upton's  letter,"  said  Glencore,  gravely. 

*' There  it  is.  But  I  must  warn  you  that  the  really  im- 
portant part  is  wanting;  for  instead  of  sending  us,  as  he 
promised,  the  communication  of  his  Russian  Princess,  he 
has  stuffed  in  a  mass  of  papers  intended  for  Downing  Street, 
and  a  lot  of  doctor's  prescriptions,  for  whose  loss  he  is 
doubtless  suffering  martyrdom." 

"  Is  this  credible?  "  cried  Glencore. 

''  There  they  are,  very  eloquent  about  sulphur,  and  certain 
refugees  with  long  names,  and  with  some  curious  hints  about 
Spanish  flies  and  the  flesh-brush." 

Glencore  flung  down  the  papers  in  indignation,  and  walked 
up  and  down  the  room  without  speaking. 

*'I'd  wager  a  trifle,"  cried  Harcoui-t,  "that  Madame  — 
What  's-her-name's  letter  has  gone  to  the  Foreign  Office  in 
lieu  of  the  despatches ;  and,  if  so,  they  have  certainly  gained 
most  by  the  whole  transaction." 

**  You  have  scarcely  considered,  perhaps,  what  publicity 
may  thus  be  given  to  my  private  affairs,"  said  Glencore. 
' '  Who  knows  what  this  woman  may  have  said ;  what 
allusions  her  letter  may  contain?" 

^'Yery  true;  I  never  did  think  of  that,"  muttered 
Harcourt. 

*'Who  knows  what  circumstances  of  my  private  history 
are  now  bandied  about  from  desk  to  desk  by  flippant  fools, 
to  be  disseminated  afterwards  over  Europe  by  every 
courier?"  cried  he,  with  increasing  passion. 

Before  Harcourt  could  reply,  the  servant  entered,  and 
whispered  a  few  words  in  his  ear.  "  But  you  already 
denied  me,"  said  Harcourt.  *'You  told  him  that  I  was 
from  home?" 

*'  Yes,  sir ;  but  he  said  that  his  business  was  so  important 
that  he  'd  wait  for  your  return,  if  I  could  not  say  where  he 
might  find  you.     This  is  his  card." 

Harcourt  took  it,  and  read,  ''Major  Scaresby,  from 
Naples."  "  What  think  you,  Glencore?  Ought  we  to  admit 
this  gentleman?  It  may  be  that  his  visit  relates  to  what 
we  have  been  speaking  about." 


HARCOURT'S  LODGINGS  261 

**  Scaresby  —  Scaresby  —  I  know  the  name,"  muttered 
Glencore.  *'To  be  sm-e !  There  was  a  fellow  that  hung 
about  Florence  and  Rome  long  ago,  and  called  himself 
Scaresby ;  an  ill-tongued  old  scandal-monger  people  encour- 
aged in  a  land  where  newspapers  are  not  permitted." 

*'  He  affects  to  have  something  very  pressing  to  communi- 
cate.    Perhaps  it  were  better  to  have  him  up." 

''Don't  make  me  known  to  him,  then,  or  let  me  have 
to  talk  to  him,"  said  Glencore,  throwing  himself  down  on  a 
sofa ;  ''  and  let  his  visit  be  as  brief  as  you  can  manage." 

Harcourt  made  a  significant  sign  to  his  servant,  and  the 
moment  after  the  Major  was  heard  ascending  the  stairs. 

''Very  persistent  of  me,  you'll  say.  Colonel  Harcourt. 
Devilish  tenacious  of  my  intentions,  to  force  myself  thus 
upon  you !  "  said  the  Major,  as  he  bustled  into  the  room, 
with  a  white  leather  bag  in  his  hand;  "but  I  promised 
Upton  I'd  not  lie  down  on  a  bed  till  I  saw  you." 

"All  the  apologies  should  come  from  my  side,  Major," 
said  Harcourt,  as  he  handed  him  to  a  chau*;  "but  the  fact 
was,  that  having  an  invalid  friend  with  me,  quite  incapable 
of  seeing  company,  and  having  matters  of  some  importance 
to  discuss  with  him  —  " 

"  Just  so,"  broke  in  Scaresby;  "and  if  it  were  not  that 
I  had  given  a  very  strong  pledge  to  Upton,  I  'd  have  given 
my  message  to  your  servant,  and  gone  off  to  my  hotel. 
But  he  laid  great  stress  on  my  seeing  you,  and  obtaining 
certain  papers  which,  if  I  understand  aright,  have  reached 
you  in  mistake,  being  meant  for  the  Minister  at  Downing 
Street.  Here's  his  own  note,  however,  which  will  explain 
all." 

It  ran  thus :  — 

.  Dear  H ,  —  So  I  find  that  some  of  the  despatches  have  got 

into  your  enclosure  instead  of  that  "  on  his  Majesty's  service."  I 
therefore  send  off  the  insupportable  old  bore  who  will  deliver  this, 
to  rescue  them,  and  convey  them  to  their  fitting  destination.  "  The 
extraordinaries  "  will  be  burdened  to  some  fifty  or  sixty  pounds 
for  it ;  but  they  very  rarely  are  expended  so  profitably  as  in  get- 
ting rid  of  an  intolerable  nuisance.  Give  him  all  the  things, 
therefore,  and  pack  him  off  to  Downing  Street.  I'm  far  more 
uneasy,  however,  about  some  prescriptions  which  I  suspect  are 
along  with  them.     One,  a  lotion  for  the   cervical  vertebrae,  of 


262        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

invaluable  activity,  which  you  may  take  a  copy  of,  but  strictly,  on 
honor,  for  your  own  use  only.  Scaresby  will  obtain  the  Princess's 
letter,  and  hand  it  to  you.  It  is  certain  not  to  have  been  opened 
at  F.  O.,  as  they  never  read  anything  not  alluded  to  in  the  private 
correspondence. 

This  blunder  has  done  me  a  deal  of  harm.  My  nerves  are  not 
in  a  state  to  stand  such  shocks  ;  and  though,  in  fact,  you  are  not 
the  culpable  party,  I  cannot  entirely  acquit  you  for  having  in  part 
occasioned  it.  [Harcourt  laughed  good-humoredly  at  this,  and 
continued  :]  If  you  care  for  it,  old  S.  will  give  you  all  the  last  gossip 
from  these  parts,  and  be  the  channel  of  yours  to  me.  But  don't 
dine  him  ;  he  's  not  worth  a  dinner.  He  'U  only  repay  sherry  and 
soda-water,  and  one  of  those  execrable  cheroots  you  used  to  be 
famed  for.  Amongst  the  recipes,  let  me  recommend  you  an 
admirable  tonic,  the  principal  ingredient  in  which  is  the  oil  of  the 
star-fish.  It  will  probably  produce  nausea,  vertigo,  and  even  faint- 
ing for  a  week  or  two,  but  these  symptoms  decline  at  last,  and, 
except  violent  hiccup,  no  other  inconvenience  remains.  Try  it, 
at  aU  events. 

Yours  ever, 
H.   U. 

While  Harcourt  perused  this  short  epistle,  Scaresby,  on 
the  invitation  of  his  host,  had  helped  himself  freely  to  the 
Madeira,  and  a  plate  of  devilled  biscuits  beside  it,  giving, 
from  time  to  time,  oblique  glances  towards  the  dark  corner 
of  the  room,  where  Glencore  lay,  apparently  asleep. 

''I  hope  Upton's  letter  justifies  my  insistence.  Colonel. 
He  certainly  gave  me  to  understand  that  the  case  was  a 
pressing  one,"  said  Scaresby. 

"Quite  so.  Major  Scaresby;  and  I  have  only  to  reiterate 
my  excuses  for  having  denied  myself  to  you.  But  you  are 
aware  of  the  reason ;  "  and  he  glanced  towards  where  Glen- 
core was  lying. 

"  Very  excellent  fellow,  Upton,"  said  the  Major,  sipping 
his  wine,  "but  very  —  what  shall  I  call  it?  —  eccentric; 
very  odd ;  not  like  any  one  else,  you  know,  in  the  way  he 
does  things.  I  happened  to  be  one  of  his  guests  t'other 
day.  He  had  detained  us  above  an  hour  waiting  dinner, 
when  he  came  in  all  flurried  and  excited,  and,  turning  to  me, 
said,  '  Scaresby,  have  you  any  objection  to  a  trip  to  England 
at  his  Majesty's  expense  ? '  and  as  I  replied,  '  None  what- 
ever ;  indeed,  it  would  suit  my  book  to  perfection  just  now,* 


HARCOURT'S  LODGINGS.  263 

'Well,  then,'  said  he,  'get  your  traps  together,  and  be  here 
within  an  hour.  I  '11  have  all  in  readiness  for  you.'  I  did 
not  much  fancy  starting  off  in  this  fashion,  and  without  my 
dinner,  too  ;  but  egad  !  he 's  one  of  those  fellows  that  don't 
stand  parleying,  and  so  I  just  took  him  at  his  word,  and 
here  I  am.  I  take  it  the  matter  must  be  a  very  emergent 
one,  eh?" 

"  It. is  clear  Sir  Horace  Upton  thought  so,"  said  Harcourt, 
rather  amused  than  offended  by  the  other's  curiosity. 

"  There 's  a  woman  in  it,  somehow,  I  '11  be  bound,  eh?  " 

Harcourt  laughed  heartily  at  this  sally,  and  pushed  the 
decanter  towards  his  guest. 

"Not  that  I'd  give  sixpence  to  know  every  syllable  of 
the  whole  transaction,"  said  Scaresby.  "  A  man  that  has 
passed,  as  I  have,  the  last  twenty-five  years  of  his  life 
between  Rome,  Florence,  and  Naples,  has  devilish  little  to 
learn  of  what  the  world  calls  scandal." 

"I  suppose  you  must  indeed  possess  a  wide  experience," 
said  Harcourt. 

"  Not  a  man  in  Europe,  sir,  could  tell  you  as  many  dark 
passages  of  good  society !  I  kept  a  kind  of  book  once,  —  a 
record  of  fashionable  delinquencies  ;  but  I  had  to  give  it  up. 
It  took  me  half  my  day  to  chronicle  even  the  passing  events ; 
and  then  my  memory  grew  so  retentive  by  practice,  I  did  n't 
want  the  reference,  but  could  give  you  date,  and  name,  and 
place  for  every  incident  that  has  scandalized  the  world  for 
the  last  quarter  of  the  century." 

"  And  do  you  still  possess  this  wonderful  gift.  Major?" 

"Pretty  well;  not,  perhaps,  to  the  same  extent  I  once 
did.  You  see.  Colonel  Harcourt,"  —  here  his  voice  became 
low  and  confidential, — "some  twenty,  or  indeed  fifteen 
years  back,  it  was  only  persons  of  actual  condition  that  per- 
mitted themselves  the  liberty  to  do  these  things ;  but,  hang 
it,  sir !  now  you  have  your  middle-class  folk  as  profligate  as 
their  betters.  Jones,  or  Smith,  or  Thompson  runs  away 
with  his  neighbor's  wife,  cheats  at  cards,  and  forges  his 
friend's  name,  just  as  if  he  had  the  best  blood  in  his  veins, 
and  fourteen  quarterings  on  his  escutcheon.  What  memory, 
then,  I  ask  you,  could  retain  all  the  shortcomings  of  these 
people  ?  " 


264        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"But  I'd  really  not  trouble  my  head  with  such  ignoble 
delinquents,"  said  Harcourt. 

' '  Nor  do  I,  sir,  save  when,  as  will  sometimes  happen, 
they  have  a  footing,  with  one  leg  at  least,  in  good  society. 
For,  in  the  present  state  of  the  world,  a  woman  with  a  pretty 
face,  and  a  man  with  a  knowledge  of  horseflesh,  may  move 
in  any  circle  they  please." 

"You're  a  severe  censor  of  the  age  we  live  in,  I  see," 
said  Harcourt,  smiling.  "At  the  same  time,  the  offences 
could  scarcely  give  you  much  uneasiness,  or  you  'd  not  take 
up  your  residence  where  they  most  abound." 

"If  you  want  to  destroy  tigers,  you  must  frequent 
the  jungle,"  said  Scaresby,  with  one  of  his  heartiest 
laughs. 

"  Say,  rather,  if  you  have  the  vulture's  appetite,  you  must 
go  where  there  is  carrion !  "  cried  Glencore,  with  a  voice  to 
which  passion  lent  a  savage  vehemence. 

"  Eh?  ha!  very  good!  devilish  smart  of  your  sick  friend. 
Pray  present  me  to  him,"  said  Scaresby,  rising. 

"  No,  no,  never  mind  him,"  whispered  Harcourt,  pressing 
him  down  into  his  seat.  "At  some  other  time,  perhaps. 
He  is  nervous  and  irritable.  Conversation  fatigues  him, 
too." 

"  Egad !  that  was  neatly  said,  though  ;  I  hope  I  shall  not 
forget  it.  One  envies  these  sick  fellows,  sometimes,  the 
venom  they  get  from  bad  health.  But  I  am  forgetting  my- 
self in  the  pleasure  of  your  society,"  added  he,  rising  from 
the  table,  as  he  finished  off  the  last  glass  in  the  decanter. 
"  I  shall  call  at  Downing  Street  to-morrow  for  that  letter 
of  Upton's,  and,  with  your  permission,  will  deposit  it  in  your 
hands  afterwards." 

Harcourt  accompanied  him  to  the  door  with  thanks.  Pro- 
fuse, indeed,  was  he  in  his  recognitions,  desiring  to  get  him 
clear  off  the  ground  before  any  further  allusions  on  his  part, 
or  rejoinders  from  Glencore,  might  involve  them  all  in  new 
complications. 

"  I  know  that  fellow  well,"  cried  Glencore,  almost  ere 
the  door  closed  on  him.  "  He  is  just  what  I  remember 
him  some  twenty  years  ago.  Dressed  up  in  the  cast-off 
vices  of  his  betters,  he  has  passed  for   a  man   of  fashion 


HARCOURT'S  LODGINGS.  265 

amongst  his  own  set,  while  he  is  regarded  as  a  wit  by 
those  who  mistake  malevolence  for  humor.  I  ask  no 
other  test  of  a  society  than  that  such  a  man  is  fendured 
in  it." 

*'I  sometimes  suspect,"  said  Harcourt,  "that  the  world 
never  believes  these  fellows  to  be  as  ill-natured  as  their 
tongues  bespeak  them." 

"You  are  wrong,  George;  the  world  knows  them  well. 
The  estimation  they  are  held  in  is,  for  the  reflective  flattery 
by  which  each  listener  to  their  sarcasms  soothes  his  own 
conscience  as  he  says,  '  I  could  be  just  as  bitter,  if  I  con- 
sented to  be  as  bad.'  '* 

* '  I  cannot  at  all  account  for  Upton's  endurance  of  such 
a  man,"  said  Harcourt. 

"  As  there  are  men  who  fancy  that  they  strengthen  their 
animal  system  by  braving  every  extreme  of  climate,  so  Upton 
imagines  that  he  invigorates  his  morale  by  associating  with 
all  kinds  and  descriptions  of  people ;  and  there  is  no  doubt 
that  in  doing  so  he  extends  the  sphere  of  his  knowledge  of 
mankmd.  After  all,"  muttered  he,  with  a  sigh,  "it's 
only  learning  the  geography  of  a  land  too  unhealthy  to  live 
in." 

Glencore  arose  as  he  said  this,  and,  with  a  nod  of  leave- 
taking,  retired  to  his  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

A   FEVERED    MIND. 

Harcourt  passed  the  morning  of  the  following  day  in 
watching  the  street  for  Scaresby's  arrival.  Glencore's 
impatience  had  grown  into  absolute  fever  to  obtain  the 
missing  letter,  and  he  kept  asking  every  moment  at  what 
hour  he  had  promised  to  be  there,  and  wondering  at  his 
delay. 

Noon  passed  over,  —  one  o'clock ;  it  was  now  nearly  half- 
past,  as  a  carriage  drove  hastily  to  the  door. 

•''At  last,"  cried  Glencore,  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Sir  Gilbert  Bruce,  su*,  requests  to  know  if  you  can 
receive  him,"  said  the  servant  to  Harcourt. 

"Another  disappointment!"  muttered  Glencore,  as  he 
left  the  room,  when  Harcourt  motioned  to  the  servant  to 
introduce  the  visitor. 

"My  dear  Colonel  Harcourt,"  cried  the  other,  entering, 
"excuse  a  very  abrupt  call;  but  I  have  a  most  pressing 
need  of  your  assistance.  I  hear  you  can  inform  me  of  Lord 
Glencore's  address." 

' '  He  is  residing  in  North  Wales  at  present.  I  can  give 
you  his  post  town." 

"Yes,  but  can  I  be  certain  that  he  will  admit  me  if  I 
should  go  down  there  ?  He  is  living,  I  hear,  in  strict  retire- 
ment, and  I  am  anxious  for  a  personal  interview." 

"  I  cannot  insure  you  that,"  said  Harcourt.  "  He  does 
live,  as  you  have  heard,  entirely  estranged  from  all  society. 
But  if  you  write  to  him  —  " 

"  Ah !  there 's  the  difficulty.  A  letter  and  its  reply  takes 
some  days." 

"  And  is  the  matter,  then,  so  very  imminent?" 


A  FEVERED  MIND.  267 

"  It  is  so ;  at  least  it  is  thought  to  be  so  by  an  authority 
that  neither  you  nor  I  will  be  likely  to  dispute.  You  know 
his  Lordship  intimately,  I  fancy?" 

''  Perhaps  I  may  call  myself  as  much  his  friend  as  any 
man  living." 

"  Well,  then,  I  may  confide  to  you  my  business  with  him. 
It  happened  that,  a  few  days  back,  Lord  Adderley  was  on 
a  visit  with  the  King  at  Brighton,  when  a  foreign  messenger 
arrived  with  despatches.  They  were,  of  course,  forwarded  to 
him  there ;  and  as  the  King  has  a  passion  for  that  species  of 
literature,  he  opened  them  all  himself.  Now,  I  suspect  that 
his  Majesty  cares  more  for  the  amusing  incidents  which 
occasionally  diversify  the  life  of  foreign  courts  than  for  the 
great  events  of  politics.  At  all  events,  he  devours  them 
with  avidity,  and  seems  conversant  with  the  characters  and 
private  affairs  of  some  hundreds  of  people  he  has  never  seen, 
nor  in  all  likelihood  will  ever  see  !  In  turning  over  the  loose 
pages  of  one  of  the  despatches  from  Naples,  I  think,  he 
came  upon  what  appeared  to  be  a  fragment  of  a  letter.  Of 
what  it  was,  or  what  it  contained,  I  have  not  the  slightest 
knowledge.  Adderley  himself  has  not  seen  it,  nor  any  one 
but  the  King.  All  I  know  is  that  it  concerns  in  some  way 
Lord  Glencore  ;  for  immediately  on  reading  it  he  gave  me  in- 
structions to  find  him  out,  and  send  him  down  to  Brighton." 

"I  am  afraid,  were  you  to  see  Glencore,  your  mission 
would  prove  a  failure.  He  has  given  up  the  world  altogether, 
and  even  a  royal  command  would  scarcely  withdraw  him 
from  his  retirement." 

"At  all  events,  I  must  make  the  trial.  You  can  let  me 
have  his  address,  and  perhaps  you  would  do  more,  and 
give  me  some  sort  of  introduction  to  him,  —  something  that 
might  smooth  down  the  difficulty  of  a  first  visit." 

Harcourt  was  silent,  and  stood  for  some  seconds  in  deep 
thought ;  which  the  other,  mistaking  for  a  sign  of  unwilling- 
ness to  comply  with  his  request,  quickly  added,  "  If  my 
demand  occasion  you  any  inconvenience,  or  if  there  be  the 
slightest  difliculty  —  " 

"Nay,  nay,  I  was  not  thinking  of  that,"  said  Harcourt. 
"  Pray  excuse  me  for  a  moment.  I  will  fetch  you  the 
address  you  spoke  of ; "  and  without  waiting  for  more,  he 


268        THE  FOKTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

left  the  room.  The  next  minute  he  was  in  Glencore's  room, 
hurriedly  narrating  to  him  all  that  had  passed,  and  asking 
him  what  course  he  should  pursue.  Glencore  heard  the  story 
with  a  greater  calm  than  Harcourt  dared  to  hope  for ;  and 
seemed  pleased  at  the  reiterated  assurance  that  the  King 
alone  had  seen  the  letter  referred  to;  and  when  Harcourt 
abruptly  asked  what  was  to  be  done,  he  slowly  replied, 
"I  must  obey  his  Majesty's  commands.  I  must  go  to 
Brighton." 

"But  are  you  equal  to  all  this?  Have  you  strength  for 
it?" 

"  I  think  so ;  at  all  events,  I  am  determined  to  make  the 
effort.  I  was  a  favorite  with  his  Majesty  long  ago.  He 
will  say  nothing  to  hurt  me  needlessly  ;  nor  is  it  in  his  nature 
to  do  so.  Tell  Bruce  that  you  will  arrange  everything,  and 
that  I  shall  present  myself  to-morrow  at  the  palace." 

"  Remember,  Glencore,  that  if  you  say  so  —  " 

"I  must  be  sure  and  keep  my  word.  Well,  so  I  mean, 
George.  I  was  a  courtier  once  upon  a  time,  and  have  not 
outlived  my  deference  to  a  sovereign.  I  '11  be  there ;  you 
may  answer  for  me." 

From  the  moment  that  Glencore  had  come  to  this  resolve, 
a  complete  change  seemed  to  pass  over  the  nature  of  the 
man.  It  was  as  though  a  new  spring  had  been  given  to  his 
existence.  The  reformation  that  all  the  blandishments  of 
friendship,  all  the  soft  influences  of  kindness,  could  never 
accomplish,  was  more  than  half  effected  by  the  mere  thought 
of  an  interview  with  a  king,  and  the  possible  chance  of  a 
little  royal  sympathy! 

If  Harcourt  was  astonished,  he  was  not  the  less  pleased  at 
all  this.  He  encouraged  Glencore's  sense  of  gratification  by 
every  means  in  his  power,  and  gladly  lent  himself  to  all  the 
petty  anxieties  about  dress  and  appearance  in  which  he 
seemed  now  immersed.  Nothing  could  exceed,  indeed,  the 
care  he  bestowed  on  these  small  details ;  ever  insisting  as  he 
did  that,  his  Majesty  being  the  best-drd'ssed  gentleman  in 
Europe,  these  matters  assumed  a  greater  importance  in  his 
eyes. 

''I  must  try  to  recover  somewhat  of  my  former  self," 
said  he.     "  There  was  a  time  when  I  came  and  went  freely 


A  FEVERED  MIND.  269 

to  Carlton  House,  when  I  was  somewhat  more  than  a  mere 
frequenter  of  the  Prince's  society.  They  tell  me  that  of  late 
he  is  glad  to  see  any  of  those  who  partook  of  his  intimacy 
of  those  times;  who  can  remember  the  genial  spirits  who 
made  his  table  the  most  brilliant  circle  of  the  world ;  who 
can  talk  to  him  of  Hanger,  and  Kelly,  and  Sheridan,  and 
the  rest  of  them.     I  spent  my  days  and  nights  with  them." 

Warming  with  the  recollection  of  a  period  which,  disso- 
lute and  dissipated  as  it  was,  yet  redeemed  by  its  brilliancy 
many  of  its  least  valuable  features,  Glencore  poured  forth 
story  after  story  of  a  time  when  statesmen  had  the  sportive- 
ness  ^of  schoolboys,  and  the  greatest  intellects  loved  to 
indulge  in  the  wildest  excesses  of  folly.  A  good  jest  upon 
Eldon,  a  smart  epigram  on  Sidmouth,  a  quiz  against  Van- 
sittart,  was  a  fortune  at  Court;  and  there  grew  up  thus 
around  the  Prince  a  class  who  cultivated  ridicule  so  assidu- 
ously that  nothing  was  too  high  or  too  venerable  to  escape 
their  sarcasms. 

Though  Glencore  was  only  emerging  out  of  boyhood,  —  a 
young  subaltern  in  the  Prince's  own  regiment,  —  when  he  first 
entered  this  society,  the  impression  it  had  made  upon  his 
mind  was  not  the  less  permanent.  Independently  of  the 
charm  of  being  thus  admitted  to  the  most  choice  circle  of 
the  land,  there  was  the  fascination  of  intimacy  with  names 
that  even  amongst  contemporaries  were  illustrious. 

"  I  feel  in  such  spii'its  to-day,  George,"  cried  Glencore  at 
length,  "  that  I  vote  we  go  and  pass  the  day  at  Richmond. 
We  shall  escape  the  possibility  of  being  bored  by  your 
acquaintance.  We  shall  have  a  glorious  stroll  through  the 
fields,  and  a  pleasant  dinner  afterwards  at  the  Star  and 
Garter." 

Only  too  well  pleased  at  this  sudden  change  in  his  friend's 
humor,  Harcourt  assented. 

The  day  was  a  bright  and  clear  one,  with  a  sharp,  frosty 
air  and  that  elasticity  of  atmosphere  that  invigorates  and 
stimulates.  They  both  soon  felt  its  influence,  and  as  the 
hours  wore  on,  pleasant  memories  of  the  past  were  related, 
and  old  friends  remembered  and  talked  over  in  a  spirit  that 
brought  back  to  each  much  of  the  youthful  sentiments  they 
recorded. 


270         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

''  If  one  could  only  go  over  it  all  again,  George,"  said 
Glencore,  as  they  sat  after  dinner,  "up  to  three-and-twenty, 
or  even  a  year  or  two  later,  I  'd  not  ask  to  change  a  day,  — 
scarcely  an  hour.  Whatever  was  deficient  in  fact,  was 
supplied  by  hope.  It  was  a  joyous,  brilliant  time,  when  we 
all  made  partnership  of  our  good  spirits,  and  traded  freely  on 
the  capital.  Even  Upton  was  frank  and  free-hearted  then. 
There  were  some  six  or  eight  of  us,  with  just  fortune  enough 
never  to  care  about  money,  and  none  of  us  so  rich  as  to  be 
immersed  in  dreams  of  gold,  as  ever  happens  with  your 
millionnaire.  Why  could  we  not  have  continued  so  to  the 
end?" 

Harcourt  adroitly  turned  him  from  the  theme  which  he 
saw  impending,  —  his  departure  for  the  Continent,  his  resi- 
dence there,  and  his  marriage,  —  and  once  more  occupied 
him  in  stories  of  his  youthful  life  in  London,  when  Glencore 
suddenly  came  to  a  stop,  and  said,  "  I  might  have  married 
the  greatest  beauty  of  the  time,  —  of  a  family,  too,  second  to 
none  in  all  England.  You  know  to  whom  I  allude.  Well, 
she  would  have  accepted  me ;  her  father  was  not  averse  to 
the  match;  a  stupid  altercation  with  her  brother.  Lord 
Hervey,  at  Brookes's  one  night  —  an  absurd  dispute  about 
some  etiquette  of  the  play-table  —  estranged  me  from  their 
house.  I  was  offended  at  what  I  deemed  their  want  of 
courtesy  in  not  seeking  me,  —  for  I  was  in  the  right ;  every 
one  said  so.  I  determined  not  to  call  first.  They  gave  a 
great  entertainment,  and  omitted  me ;  and  rather  than  stay  in 
town  to  publish  this  affront,  I  started  for  the  Continent ;  and 
out  of  that  petty  incident,  a  discussion  of  the  veriest  trifle 
imaginable,  there  came  the  whole  course  of  my  destiny." 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Harcourt,  with  assumed  calm,  "  every 
man's  fortune  in  life  is  at  the  sport  of  some  petty  incident  or 
other,  which  at  the  time  he  undervalues." 

"And  then  we  scoff  at  those  men  who  scrutinize  each 
move,  and  hesitate  over  every  step  in  life,  as  triflers  and 
little-minded;  while,  if  your  remark  be  just,  it  is  exactly 
they  who  are  the  wise  and  prudent,"  cried  Glencore,  with 
warmth.  "  Had  I,  for  instance,  seen  this  occurrence,  trivial 
as  it  was,  in  its  true  light,  what  and  where  might  I  not  have 
been  to-day  ?  " 


A  FEVERED  MIND.  271 

"My  dear  Glencore,  the  luckiest  fellow  that  ever  lived, 
were  he  only  to  cast  a  look  back  on  opportunities  neglected, 
and  conjunctures  unprofited  by,  would  be  sure  to  be  miser- 
able. I  am  far  from  saying  that  some  have  not  more  than 
their  share  of  the  world's  sorrows ;  but,  take  my  word  for  it, 
every  one  has  his  load,  be  it  greater  or  less ;  and,  what  is 
worse,  we  all  of  us  carry  our  burdens  with  as  much  incon- 
venience to  om'selves  as  we  can." 

"I  know  what  you  would  say,  Harcourt.  It  is  the  old 
story  about  giving  way  to  passion,  and  suffering  temper 
to  get  the  better  of  one ;  but  let  me  tell  you  that  there  are 
trials  where  passion  is  an  instinct,  and  reason  works  too 
slowly.     I  have  experienced  such  as  this." 

"  Give  yourself  but  fair  play,  Glencore,  and  you  will 
surmount  all  your  troubles.  Come  back  into  the  world 
again,  —  I  don't  mean  this  world  of  balls  and  dinner-parties, 
of  morning  calls  and  afternoons  in  the  Park;  but  a  really 
active,  stirring  life.  Come  with  me  to  India,  and  let  us 
have  a  raid  amongst  the  jaguars ;  mix  with  the  pleasant, 
light-hearted  fellows  you  '11  meet  at  every  mess,  who  ask  for 
nothing  better  than  their  own  good  spirits  and  good  health, 
to  content  them  with  the  world ;  just  look  out  upon  life, 
and  see  what  numbers  are  struggling  and  swimming  for 
existence,  while  you,  at  least,  have  competence  and  wealth 
for  all  you  wish;  and  bear  in  mind  that  round  the  table 
where  wit  is  flashing  and  the  merriest  laughter  rings,  there 
is  not  a  man — no,  not  one  —  who  hasn't  a  something  heavy 
in  his  heart,  but  yet  who  'd  feel  himself  a  coward  if  his  face 
confessed  it." 

''  And  why  am  I  to  put  this  mask  upon  me?  For  what 
and  for  whom  have  I  to  wear  this  disguise  ?  "  cried  Glencore, 
angrily. 

"For  yourself!  It  is  in  bearing  up  manfully  before  the 
world  you'll  gain  the  courage  to  sustain  your  own  heart. 
Ay,  Glencore,  you  '11  do  it  to-morrow.  In  the  presence  of 
royalty  you  '11  comport  yourself  with  dignity  and  reserve, 
and  you  '11  come  out  from  the  interview  higher  and  stronger 
in  self-esteem.'* 

"You  talk  as  if  I  were  some  country  squire  who  would 
stand   abashed  and   awe-struck   before   his  King;   but  re- 


272        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

member,  my  worthy  Colonel,  I  have  lived  a  good  deal 
inside  the  tabernacle,  and  its  mysteries  are  no  secrets  to 
me." 

"Reason  the  more  for  what  I  say!  "  broke  in  Harcourt; 
* '  your  deference  will  not  obliterate  your  judgment ;  your 
just  respect  will  not  alloy  your  reason." 

"I'll  talk  to  the  King,  sir,  as  I  talk  to  you,"  said 
Glencore,  passionately;  "  nor  is  the  visit  of  my  seeking.  I 
have  long  since  done  with  courts  and  those  who  frequent 
them.  What  can  royalty  do  for  me  ?  Upton  and  yourself 
may  play  the  courtier,  and  fawn  at  levees ;  you  have  your 
petitions  to  present,  your  favors  to  beg  for;  you  want  to 
get  this,  or  be  excused  from  that :  but  I  am  no  supplicant ; 
I  ask  for  no  place,  no  ribbon.  If  the  King  speak  to  me 
about  my  private  affairs,  he  shall  be  answered  as  I  would 
answer  any  one  who  obtrudes  his  rank  into  the  place  that 
should  only  be  occupied  by  friendship." 

"  It  may  be  that  he  has  some  good  counsel  to  offer." 

"  Counsel  to  offer  me  !  "  burst  in  Glencore,  with  increased 
warmth.  ' '  I  would  no  more  permit  any  man  to  give  me 
advice  unasked  than  I  would  suffer  him  to  go  to  my  trades- 
people and  pay  my  debts  for  me.  A  man's  private  sorrows 
are  his  debts,  —  obligations  between  himself  and  his  own 
heart.  Don't  tell  me,  sir,  that  even  a  king's  prerogative 
absolves  him  from  the  duties  of  a  gentleman." 

While  he  uttered  these  words,  he  continued  to  fill  and 
empty  his  wine-glass  several  times,  as  if  passion  had 
stimulated  his  thirst;  and  now  his  flashing  eyes  and  his 
heightened  color  betrayed  the  effect  of  wine. 

"Let  us  stroll  out  into  the  cool  air,"  said  Harcourt. 
"  See  what  a  gorgeous  night  of  stars  it  is !  '* 

"That  you  may  resume  your  discourse  on  patience  and 
resignation!"  said  Glencore,  scofRngly.  "No,  sir.  If  I 
must  listen  to  you,  let  me  have  at  least  the  aid  of  the  decan- 
ter. Your  bitter  maxims  are  a  bad  substitute  for  olives,  but 
I  must  have  wine  to  swallow  them." 

"  I  never  meant  them  to  be  so  distasteful  to  you,"  said 
Harcourt,  good-humor edly. 

"  Say,  rather,  you  troubled  your  head  little  whether  they 
were  or  not,"  replied  Glencore,  whose  voice  was  now  thick 


^ 


A  FEVERED  MIND.  273 

from  passion  and  drink  together.  "You  and  Upton,  and 
two  or  three  others,  presume  to  lecture  me  —  who,  because 
gifted,  if  you  call  it  gifted  —  I'd  say  cursed  —  ay,  sir, 
cursed  with  coarser  natures  —  temperaments  where  higher 
sentiments  have  no  place  —  fellows  that  can  make  what  they 
feel  subordinate  to  what  they  want  —  you  appreciate  tliat^  I 
hope  —  thai  stings  you,  does  it?  Well,  sir,  you'll  find  me 
as  ready  to  act  as  to  speak.  There 's  not  a  word  I  utter 
here  I  mean  to  reti-act  to-morrow." 

'*  My   dear   Glencore,   we   have    both  taken    too   much 
wine." 

f  "Speak  for  yourself,  sir.  If  you  desire  to  make  the 
claret  the  excuse  for  your  language,  I  can  only  say  it 's  like 
everything  else  in  your  conduct,  —  always  a  subterfuge, 
always  a  scapegoat.  Oh,  George,  George,  I  never  suspected 
this  in  you ; "  and  burying  his  head  between  his  hands, 
he-  burst  into  tears. 

He  never  spoke  a  word  as  Harcourt  assisted  him  to  the 
carriage,  nor  did  he  open  his  lips  on  the  road  homewards. 


18 


CHAPTER  XXXVn. 

THE    VILLA   AT    SORRENTO. 

In  one  of  the  most  sequestered  nooks  of  Sorrento,  almost 
escarped  out  of  the  rocky  cliff,  and  half  hid  in  the  foliage  of 
orange  and  oleander  trees,  stood  the  little  villa  of  the  Prin- 
cess Sabloukoff.  The  blue  sea  washed  the  white  marble 
terrace  before  the  windows,  and  the  arbutus,  whose  odor 
scented  the  drawing-room,  dipped  its  red  berries  in  the 
glassy  water.  The  wildest  and  richest  vegetation  abounded 
on  every  side.  Plants  and  shrubs  of  tropical  climes  mingled 
with  the  hardier  races  of  Northern  lands ;  and  the  cedar  and 
the  plantain  blended  thek  leaves  with  the  sycamore  and  the 
ilex;  while,  as  if  to  complete  the  admixture,  birds  and 
beasts  of  remote  countries  were  gathered  together ;  and  the 
bustard,  the  ape,  and  the  antelope  mixed  with  the  peacock, 
the  chamois,  and  the  golden  pheasant.  The  whole  repre- 
sented one  of  those  capricious  exhibitions  by  which  wealth  so 
often  associates  itself  with  the  beautiful,  and,  despite  all 
errors  in  taste,  succeeds  in  making  a  spot  eminently  lovely. 
So  was  it.  There  was  often  light  where  a  painter  would 
have  wished  shadow.  There  were  gorgeous  flowers  where  a 
poet  would  have  desired  nothing  beyond  the  blue  heather- 
bell.  There  were  startling  effects  of  view,  managed  where 
chance  glimpses  through  the  trees  had  been  infinitely  more 
picturesque.  There  was,  in  fact,  the  obtrusive  sense  of 
riches  in  a  thousand  ways  and  places  where  mere  unadorned 
nature  had  been  far  preferable;  and  yet,  with  all  these 
faults,  sea  and  sky,  rock  and  foliage,  the  scented  air,  the 
silence,  only  broken  by  the  tuneful  birds,  the  rich  profusion 
of  color  upon  a  sward  strewn  with  flowers,  made  of  the  spot 
a  perfect  paradise. 

In  a  richly  decorated  room,  whose  three  windows  opened 
on  a  marble  terrace,  sat  the  Princess.     It  was  December; 


THE  VILLA  AT  SORRENTO.  275 

but  the  sky  was  cloudless,  the  sea  a  perfect  mirror,  and  the 
light  air  that  stkred  the  leaves  soft  and  balmy  as  the  breath 
of  May.  Her  dress  was  in  keeping  with  the  splendor 
around  her :  a  rich  robe  of  yellow  silk  fastened  up  the  front 
with  large  carbuncle  buttons ;  sleeves  of  deep  Valenciennes 
lace  fell  far  over  her  jewelled  fingers  ;  and  a  scarf  of  golden 
embroidery,  negligently  thrown  over  an  arm  of  her  chair, 
gave  what  a  painter  would  call  the  warm  color  to  a  very 
striking  picture.  Farther  from  the  window,  and  carefully 
protected  from  the  air  by  a  screen,  sat  a  gentleman  whose 
fur-lined  pelisse  and  velvet  skull-cap  showed  that  he  placed 
more  faith  in  the  almanac  than  in  the  atmosphere.  From 
his  cork-soled  boots  to  his  shawl  muffled  about  the  throat,  all 
proclaimed  that  distrust  of  the  weather  that  characterizes 
the  invalid.  No  treachery  of  a  hot  sun,  no  seductions  of 
that  inveterate  cheat,  a  fine  day  in  winter,  could  inveigle 
Sir  Horace  Upton  into  any  forgetfulness  of  his  precautions. 
He  would  have  regarded  such  as  a  palpable  weakness  on  his 
part,  —  a  piece  of  folly  perfectly  unbecoming  in  a  man  of 
his  diplomatic  standing  and  ability. 

He  was  writing,  and  smoking,  and  talking  by  turns,  the 
table  before  him  being  littered  with  papers,  and  even  the 
carpet  at  his  feet  strewn  with  the  loose  sheets  of  his  compo- 
sition. There  was  not  in  his  air  any  of  the  concentration,  or 
even  seriousness,  of  a  man  engaged  in  an  important  labor ; 
and  yet  the  work  before  him  employed  all  his  faculties,  and 
he  gave  to  it  the  deepest  attention  of  abilities  of  which  very 
few  possessed  the  equal.  To  great  powers  of  reasoning  and 
a  very  strong  judgment  he  united  a  most  acute  knowledge  of 
men;  not  exactly  of  mankind  in  the  mass,  but  of  that 
especial  order  with  whom  he  had  habitually  to  deal.  Stolid, 
commonplace  stupidity  might  puzzle  or  embarrass  him ; 
while  for  any  amount  of  craft,  for  any  degree  of  subtlety, 
he  was  an  over-match.  The  plain  matter-of-fact  intelligence 
occasionally  gained  a  slight  advantage  over  him  at  first ;  the 
trained  and  polished  mind  of  the  most  astute  negotiator  was 
a  book  he  could  read  at  sight.  It  was  his  especial  tact  to 
catch  up  all  this  knowledge  at  once,  —  very  often  in  a  first 
interview,  —  and  thus,  while  others  were  interchanging  the 
customary  platitudes  of  every-day  courtesy,  he  was  gleaning 


276        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

and  recording  within  himself  the  traits  and  characteristics  of 
all  around  him. 

"A  clever  fellow,  very  clever  fellow,  Cineselli,"  said 
he,  as  he  continued  to  write.  "His  proposition  is  —  cer- 
tain commercial  advantages,  and  that  we,  on  our  side,  leave 
him  alone  to  deal  his  own  way  with  his  own  rabble.  I  see 
nothing  against  it,  so  long  as  they  continue  to  be  rabble ; 
but  grubs  grow  into  butterflies,  and  very  vulgar  populace 
have  now  and  then  emerged  into  what  are  called  liberal 
politicians." 

"  Only  where  you  have  the  blessing  of  a  free  press,"  said 
the  Princess,  in  a  tone  of  insolent  mockery.^ 

"Quite  true.  Princess;  a  free  press  is  a  tonic  that  with 
an  increased  dose  becomes  a  stimulant,  and  occasionally 
over-excites." 

"  It  makes  your  people  drunk  now  and  then!  "  said  she, 
angrily. 

"  They  always  sleep  it  off  over-night,"  said  he,  softly. 
"  They  very  rarely  pay  even  the  penalty  of  the  morning 
headache  for  the  excess,  which  is  exactly  why  it  will  not 
answer  in  warmer  latitudes." 

"  Ours  is  a  cold  one,  and  I  'm  sure  it  would  not  suit  us." 

"I'm  not  so  certain  of  that,"  said  he,  languidly.  "I 
think  it  is  eminently  calculated  for  a  people  who  don't  know 
how  to  read." 

She  would  have  smiled  at  the  remark,  if  the  sarcasm  had 
not  offended  her. 

"  Your  Lordship  will  therefore  see,"  muttered  he,  reading 
to  himself  as  he  wrote,  "  that  in  yielding  this  point  we  are, 
while  apparently  making  a  concession,  in  reality  obtaining  a 
very  considerable  advantage  —  " 

"  Rather  an  English  habit,  I  suspect,"  said  she,  smiling. 

"Picked  up  in  the  course  of  our  Baltic  trade.  Princess. 
In  sending  us  your  skins,  you  smuggled  in  some  of  your 
sentiments ;  and  Russian  tallow  has  enlightened  the  nation 
in  more  ways  than  one !  " 

"  You  need  it  all,  my  dear  chevalier,"  said  she,  with  a 
saucy  smile.  "Harzewitch  told  me  that  your  diplomatic 
people  were  inferior  to  those  of  the  third-rate  German 
States ;  that,  in  fact,  they  never  had  any  '  information.' " 


THE  VILLA  AT  SORRENTO.  277 

*' I  know  what  he  calls  '  information,' Princess  ;  and  his 
remark  is  just.  Our  Government  is  shockingly  mean,  and 
never  would  keep  up  a  good  system  of  spies." 

' '  Spies !  If  you  mean  by  an  odious  word  to  inculpate  the 
honor  of  a  high  calling  —  " 

"Pray  forgive  my  interruption,  but  I  am  speaking  in  all 
good  faith.  When  I  said  '  spy,'  it  was  in  the  bankrupt  mis- 
ery of  a  man  who  had  nothing  else  to  offer.  I  wanted  to 
imply  that  pure  but  small  stream  which  conveys  intelli- 
gence from  a  fountain  to  a  river  it  was  not  meant  to  feed. 
Was  n't  that  a  carriage  I  heard  in  the  '  cour '  ?  Oh,  pray 
don't  open  the  window ;  there 's  an  odious  libeccio  blowing 
to-day,  and  there's  nothing  so  injurious  to  the  nervous 
system." 

"  A  cabinet  messenger,  your  Excellency,"  said  a  servant, 
entering. 

"  What  a  bore !  I  hoped  I  was  safe  from  a  despatch  for 
at  least  a  month  to  come.  I  really  believe  they  have  no 
veneration  for  old  institutions  in  England.  They  don't  even 
celebrate  Christmas !  " 

"I'm  charmed  at  the  prospect  of  a  bag,"  cried  the 
Princess. 

"  May  I  have  the  messenger  shown  in  here.  Princess?  " 

"  Certainly ;  by  all  means." 

' '  Happy  to  see  your  Excellency  ;  hope  your  Ladyship  is 
in  good  health,"  said  a  smart-looking  young  fellow,  who  wore 
a  much-frogged  pelisse,  and  sported  a  very  well-trimmed 
moustache. 

"Ah,  Stevins,  how  d'ye  do?"  said  Upton.  "You've 
had  a  cold  journey  over  the  Cenis." 

"  Came  by  the  Splugen,  your  Excellency.  I  went  round 
by  Vienna,  and  Maurice  Esterhazy  took  me  as  far  as 
Milan." 

The  Princess  stared  with  some  astonishment.  That  the 
messenger  should  thus  familiarly  style  one  of  that  great 
family  was  indeed  matter  of  wonderment  to  her ;  nor  was 
it  lessened  as  Upton  whispered  her,  "  Ask  him  to  dine." 

"And  London,  how  is  it?  Very  empty,  Stevins?"  con- 
tinued lie. 

"  A  desert,"  was  the  answer. 


278  '       THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 


a 


' '  Where 's  Lord  Adderley  ?  " 
At  Brighton.     The  King  can't  do  without  him,  —  greatly 
to  Adderley's  disgust;    for  he   is  dying  to  have  a  week's 
shooting  in  the  Highlands." 

"  And  Cantworth,  where  is  he?  " 

"He's  off  for  Vienna,  and  a  short  trip  to  Hungary.  I 
met  him  at  dinner  at  the  mess  while  waiting  for  the  Dover 
packet.  By  the  way,  I  saw  a  friend  of  your  Excellency's,  — 
Harcourt." 

' '  Not  gone  to  India  ?  " 

"No.  They've  made  him  a  governor  or  commander-in- 
chief  of  something  in  the  Mediterranean;  I  forget  exactly 
where  or  what." 

"You  have  brought  me  a  mighty  bag,  Stevins,"  said 
Upton,  sighing.  "  I  had  hoped  for  a  little  ease  and  rest 
now  that  the  House  is  up." 

"They  are  all  blue-books,  I  believe,"  replied  Stevins. 
"There's  that  blacking  your  Excellency  wrote  about,  and 
the  cricket-bats ;  the  lathe  must  come  out  by  the  frigate, 
and  the  down  mattress  at  the  same  time." 

' '  Just  do  me  the  favor  to  open  the  bag,  my  dear  Stevins. 
I  am  utterly  without  aid  here,"  said  Upton,  sighing  drearily ; 
and  the  other  proceeded  to  litter  the  table  and  the  floor  with 
a  variety  of  strange  and  incongruous  parcels. 

"  Report  of  factory  commissioners,"  cried  he,  throwing 
down  a  weighty  quarto.  "Yarmouth  bloaters;  Atkinson's 
cerulean  paste  for  the  eyebrows ;  Worcester  sauce ;  trade 
returns  for  Tahiti ;  a  set  of  shoemaking  tools  ;  eight  bottles 
of  Darby's  pyloric  corrector ;  buffalo  flesh-brushes,  —  devilish 
hard  they  seem;  Hume's  speech  on  the  reduction  of  for- 
eign legations ;  novels  from  Bull's ;  top-boots  for  a  tiger ; 
and  a  mass  of  letters,"  said  Stevins,  throwing  them  broadcast 
over  the  sofa. 

"  No  despatches?  "  cried  Upton,  eagerly. 

"  Not  one,  by  Jove !  "  said  Stevins. 

"  Open  one  of  those  Darby's.  I'll  take  a  teaspoonful  at 
once.     Will  you  try  it,  Stevins  ?  " 

"  Thanks,  your  Excellency,  I  never  take  physic." 

"  Well,  you  dine  here,  then,"  said  he,  with  a  sly  look  at 
the  Princess. 


THE  VILLA  AT   SORRENTO.  279 

"  Not  to-day,  your  Excellency.     I  dine  with  Grammont     ' 
at  eight." 

''  Then  I  '11  not  detain  you.  Come  back  here  to-morrow 
about  eleven .  or  a  little  later.  Come  to  breakfast  if  you 
like." 

''At  what  hour?" 

"I  don't  know, — at  any  hour,"  sighed  Upton,  as  he 
opened  one  of  his  letters  and  began  to  read;  and  Stevins 
bowed  and  withdrew,  totally  unnoticed  and  unrecognized  as 
he  slipped  from  the  room. 

One  after  another  Upton  threw  down,  after  reading  half 
a  dozen  lines,  muttering  some  indistinct  syllables  over  the 
dreary  stupidity  of  letter-writers  in  general.  Occasionally 
he  came  upon  some  pressing  appeal  for  money,  —  some 
urgent  request  for  even  a  small  remittance  by  the  next  post ; 
and  these  he  only  smiled  at,  while  he  refolded  them  with  a 
studious  care  and  neatness.  "  Why  will  you  not  help  me 
with  this  chaos,  dear  Princess?"  said  he,  at  last. 

''  I  am  only  waiting  to  be  asked,"  said  she  ;  "  but  I  feared 
that  there  might  be  secrets  —  " 

"  From  you? "  said  he,  with  a  voice  of  deep  tenderness, 
while  his  eyes  sparkled  with  an  expression  far  more  like 
raillery  than  affection.  The  Princess,  however,  had  either 
not  seen  or  not  heeded  it,  for  she  was  already  deep  in  the 
correspondence. 

"  This  is  strictly  private.     Am  I  to  read  it?  "  said  she. 

"  Of  course,"  said  he,  bowing  courteously.  And  she 
read :  — 

"  Dear  Upton,  —  Let  us  have  a  respite  from  tariffs  and  trade- 
talk  for  a  month  or  two,  and  tell  me  rather  what  the  world  is 
doing  around  you.  We  have  never  got  the  right  end  of  that 
story  about  the  Princess  Celestine   as  yet.     Who  was  he?     JSTot 

Labinsky,  I'll  be  sworn.     The   K insists   it  was   Roseville, 

and  I  hope  you  may  be  able  to  assure  me  that  he  is  mistaken. 
He  is  worse  tempered  than  ever.  That  Glencore  business  has  ex- 
asperated him  greatly.  Could  n't  your  Princess,  —  the  world 
calls  her  yours  ["  How  good  of  the  world,  and  how  delicate 
of  your  friend !  "  said  she,  smiling  superciliously.  "  Let  us  see 
who  the  writer  is.  Oh  !  a  great  man,  —  the  Lord  Adderley,"  and 
went  on  with  her  reading :]  could  n't  your  Princess  find  out 
something  of  real  consequence  to  us  about  the  Q " 


280        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"  What  queen  does  he  mean?"  cried  she,  stopping. 

"  The  Queen  of  Sheba,  perhaps,"  said  Upton,  biting  his 
lips  with  anger,  while  he  made  an  attempt  to  take  the  letter 
from  her. 

^'  Pardon  !  this  is  interesting,"  said  she,  and  went  on : 

"  We  shall  want  it  soon ;  that  is,  if  the  manufacturing  districts 
will  not  kindly  afford  iis  a  diversion  by  some  open-air  demonstra- 
tions and  a  collision  with  the  troops.  We  have  offered  them  a 
most  taking  bait,  by  announcing  wrongfully  the  departure  of  six 
regiments  for  India ;  thus  leaving  the  large  towns  in  the  North 
apparently  ungarrisoned.  They  are  such  poltroons  that  the 
chances  are  they  'U  not  bite  I  You  were  right  about  Emerson. 
We  have  made  his  brother  a  Bishop,  and  he  voted  with  us  on  the 
Arms  Bill.  Cole  is  a  sterling  patriot  and  an  old  Whig.  He 
says  nothing  shall  seduce  him  from  his  party,  save  a  Lordship  of 
the  Admiralty.  Corruption  everywhere,  my  dear  Upton,  except  on 
the  Treasury  benches ! 

"  Holecrof t  insists  on  being  sent  to  Petersburg ;  and  having 
ascertained  that  the  Emperor  will  not  accept  him,  I  have  induced 

the  K to   nominate   him  to  the  post.     '  Non   culpa  nostra,' 

etc.  He  can  scarcely  vote  against  us  after  such  an  evidence  of  our 
good-will.  Find  out  what  will  give  most  umbrage  to  your  Court, 
and  I  will  tell  you  why  in  my  next. 

"Don't  bother  yourself  about  the  Greeks.  The  time  is  not 
come  yet,  nor  will  it  till  it  suit  our  policy  to  loosen  the  ties  with 
Russia.  As  to  France,  there  is  not,  nor  will  there  be,  in  our  time 
at  least,  any  Government  there.  We  must  deal  with  them  as 
with  a  public  meeting,  which  may  reverse  to-morrow  the  resolu- 
tions they  have  adopted  to-day.  The  French  will  never  be  for- 
midable till  they  are  unanimous.  They  '11  never  be  unanimous 
till  we  declare  war  with  them  !  Remember,  I  don't  want  anything 
serious  with  Cineselli,  Irritate  and  worry  as  much  as  you  can. 
Send  even  for  a  ship  or  two  from  Malta ;  but  go  no  farther.  I 
want  this  for  our  radicals  at  home.  Our  own  friends  are  in  the 
secret.  Write  me  a  short  despatch  about  our  good  relations  with 
the  Two  Sicilies ;  and  send  me  some  news  in  a  private  letter. 
Let  me  have  some  ortolans  in  the  bag,  and  believe  me  yours, 

"  Adderley." 

''There,"  said  she,  turning  over  a  number  of  letters  with 
a  mere  glance  at  their  contents,  "these  are  all  trash, — 
shooting  and  fox-hunting  news,  which  one  reads  in  the  news- 
papers better,  or  at  least  more  briefly,  narrated,  with  all  that 
death  and  marriage  intelligence  which  you  English  are  so 


THE  VILLA  AT  SORRENTO.  281 

fond  of  parading  before  the  world.  But  what  is  this 
literary  gem  here?  Where  did  the  paper  come  from?  And 
that  wonderful  seal,  and  still  more  wonderful  address  ?  — 
'To  his  Worshipful  Excellency  the  Truly  Worthy  and 
Right  Honorable  Sir  Horace  Upton,  Plenipotentiary,  Nego- 
tiator, and  Extraordinary  Diplomatist,  living  at  Naples.'  " 

"  What  can  it  mean?  "  said  he,  languidly. 

''You  shall  hear,"  said  she,  breaking  the  massive  seal  of 
green  wax,  which,  to  the  size  of  a  crown  piece,  ornamented 
one  side  of  the  epistle.  "It  is  dated  Schwats,  Tyrol,  and, 
begins :  '  Venerated  and  Reverend  Excellency,  when  these 
unsymmetrically-designed,  and  not  more  ingeniously-con- 
ceived syllables  —  *  Let  us  see  his  name,"  said  she,  stop- 
ping suddenly,  and  tui'ning  to  the  last  page,  read,  "  '  W.  T., 
vulgo,  Billy  Traynor,  —  a  name  cognate  to  your  Worshipful 
Eminence  in  times  past.'  " 

"  To  be  sui-e,  I  remember  him  perfectly,  —  a  strange  crea- 
ture that  came  out  here  with  that  boy  you  heard  me  speak 
of.     Pray  read  on." 

"  I  stopped  at  'syllables.'  Yes  —  when  these  curiously- 
conceived  syllables,  then,  '  come  under  the  visionary  aper- 
tures of  your  acute  understanding,  they  will  disclose  to 
your  much-reflecting  and  nice-discriminating  mind  as  cruel 
and  murderous  a  deed  as  ever  a  miscreant  imagination  sug- 
gested to  a  diabolically-constructed  and  nefariously- fashioned 
organization,  showing  that  Nature  in  her  bland  adaptiveness 
never  imposes  a  mistaken  fruit  on  a  genuine  arborescence ' 
—  Do  you  understand  him?"  asked  she. 

"Partly,  perhaps,"  continued  he.  "Let  us  have  the 
subject." 

' ' '  Not  to  weary  your  exalted  and  never-enough- to-be- 
esteemed  intelligence,  I  will  proceed,  without  further  am- 
biguous oi'  circumgyratory  evolutions,  to  the  main  body  of 
my  allegation.  It  happened  in  this  way :  Charley  —  your 
venerated  worship  knows  who  I  mean  —  Charley,  ever  deep 
in  m armorial  pursuits,  and  far  progressed  in  sculptorial 
excellence,  with  a  genius  that  Phidias,  if  he  did  not  envy, 
would  esteem  — ' 

"  Really  I  cannot  go  on  with  these  interminable  parenthe- 
ses," said  she ;   "  you  must  decipher  them  yourself." 


282         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

Upton  took  the  letter,  and  read  it,  at  first  hastily,  and 
then,  recommencing,  with  more  of  care  and  attention, 
occasionally  stopping  to  reflect,  and  consider  the  details. 
''This  is  likely  to  be  a  troublesome  business,"  said  he. 
"This  boy  has  got  himself  into  a  serious  scrape.  Love 
and  a  duel  are  bad  enough;  but  an  Austrian  state-prison, 
and  a  sentence  of  twenty  years  in  irons,  are  even  worse. 
So  far  as  I  can  make  out  from  my  not  over  lucid  corre- 
spondent, he  had  conceived  a  violent  affection  for  a  young 
lady  at  Massa,  to  whose  favor  a  young  Austrian  of  high 
rank  at  the  same  time  pretended." 

"  Wahnsdorf,  I'm  certain,"  broke  in  the  Princess ;  "  and 
the  giii  —  that  Mademoiselle  —  " 

"Harley,"  interposed  Sir  Horace. 

"Just  so,  —  Harley.     Pray  go  on,"  said  she,  eagerly. 

"Avery  serious  altercation  and  a  duel  were  the  conse- 
quences of  this  rivalry,  and  Wahnsdorf  has  been  dangerously 
wounded ;  his  life  is  still  in  peril.  The  Harleys  have  been 
sent  out  of  the  country,  and  my  unlucky  protege^  handed 
over  to  the  Austrians,  has  been  tried,  condemned,  and 
sentenced  to  twenty  years  in  Kuffstein,  a  Tyrol  fortress 
where  great  severity  is  practised,  —  from  the  neighborhood  of 
which  this  letter  is  written,  entreating  my  speedy  interference 
and  protection." 

"What  can  you  do?  It  is  not  even  within  your  juris- 
diction," said  she,  carelessly. 

' '  True ;  nor  was  the  capture  by  the  Austrians  within 
theirs.  Princess.  It  is  a  case  where  assuredly  everybody 
was  in  the  wrong,  and,  therefore,  admii-ably  adapted  for 
nice  negotiation." 

"  Who  and  what  is  the  youth?  " 

"  I  have  called  him  a  protege" 

"Has  he  no  more  tender  claim  to  the  affectionate  solici- 
tude of  Sir  Horace  Upton  ?  "  said  she,  with  an  easy  air  of 
sarcasm. 

"None,  on  my  honor,"  said  he,  eagerly;  "none,  at 
least,  of  the  kind  you  infer.  His  is  a  very  sad  story,  which 
I  '11  tell  you  about  at  another  time.  For  the  present,  I  may 
say  that  he  is  English,  and  as  such  must  be  protected  by 
the  English  authorities.     The  Government  of  Massa  have 


THE   VILLA  AT  SORRENTO.  283 

clearly  committed  a  great  fault  in  handing  him  over  to  the 
Austrians.  Stubber  must  be  '  brought  to  book '  for  this  in 
the  first  instance.  By  this  we  shall  obtain  a  perfect  insight 
into  the  whole  affair." 

''The  Imperial  family  will  never  forgive  an  insult 
offered  to  one  of  then*  own  blood,"  said  the  Princess, 
haughtily. 

"We  shall  not  ask  them  to  forgive  anything,  my  dear 
Princess.  We  shall  only  prevent  their  natural  feelings 
betraying  them  into  an  act  of  injustice.  The  boy's  of- 
fence, whatever  it  was,  occurred  outside  the  frontier,  as  I 
apprehend." 

"How  delighted  you  English  are  when  you  can  convert 
an  individual  case  into  an  international  question!  You 
would  at  any  moment  sacrifice  an  ancient  alliance  to  the 
trumpery  claim  of  an  aggrieved  tourist,"  said  she,  rising 
angrily,  and  swept  out  of  the  room  ere  Sir  Horace  could 
arise  to  open  the  door  for  her. 

Upton  walked  slowly  to  the  chimney  and  rang  the  bell. 
"  I  shall  want  the  caleche  and  post-horses  at  eight  o'clock, 
Antoine.  Put  up  some  things  for  me,  and  get  all  my 
furs  ready."  And  with  this  he  measured  forty  drops 
from  a  small  phial  he  carried  in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and 
sat  down  to  pare  his  nails  with  ^  very  diminutive  penknife. 


CHAPTER  XXXVin. 


A   DIPLOMAIIST  S    DINNER. 


Were  we  writing  a  drama  instead  of  a  true  history,  we 
might  like  to  linger  for  a  few  moments  on  the  leave-taking 
between  the  Princess  and  Sir  Horace  Upton.  They  were 
indeed  both  consummate  "artists,"  and  they  played  their 
parts  to  perfection,  —  not  as  we  see  high  comedy  performed 
on  the  stage,  by  those  who  grotesque  its  refinements  and 
exaggerate  its  dignity;  "lashing  to  storm"  the  calm  and 
placid  lake,  all  whose  convulsive  throes  are  many  a  fathom 
deep,  and  whose  wildest  workings  never  bring  a  ripple  to 
the  surface.  No,  theirs  was  the  true  version  of  well-bred 
"  performance."  A  little  well-affected  grief  at  separation, 
brief  as  it  was  meant  to  be ;  a  little  half-expressed  sur- 
prise, on  the  lady's  part,  at  the  suddenness  of  the  departure  ; 
a  little,  just  as  vaguely  conveyed,  complaint  on  the  other 
side,  over  the  severe  requirements  of  duty,  and  a  very  little 
tenderness  —  for  there  was  no  one  to  witness  it  —  at  the 
thought  of  parting ;  and  with  a  kiss  upon  her  hand,  whose 
respectful  courtesy  no  knight-errant  of  old  could  have  sur- 
passed. Sir  Horace  backed  from  the  "presence,"  sighed, 
and  slipped  away. 

Had  our  reader  been  a  spectator  instead  of  a  peruser  of 
the  events  we  have  lately  detailed,  he  might  have  fancied, 
from  certain  small  asperities  of  manner,  certain  quicknesses 
of  reproof  and  readiness  at  rejoinder,  that  here  were  two 
people  only  waiting  for  a  reasonable  and  decent  pretext  to 
go  on  their  separate  roads  in  life.  Yet  nothing  of  this  kind 
was  the  case;  the  bond  between  them  was  not  affection, 
it  was  simply  convenience.  Their  partnership  gave  them 
a  strength  and  a  social  solvency  which  would  have  been 
sorely  damaged  had  either  retired  from  ' '  the  firm ; "  and 
they  knew  it. 


A  DIPLOMATIST'S  DINNER.  285 

What  would  the  Princess's  dinners  have  been  without  the 
polished  ease  of  him  who  felt  himself  half  the  host  ?  What 
would  all  Sir  Horace  Upton's  subtlety  avail  him,  if  it  were 
not  that  he  had  sources  of  information  which  always  laid 
open  the  game  of  his  adversaries  ?  Singly,  each  would  have 
had  a  tough  struggle  with  the  world ;  together,  they  were 
more  than  a  match  for  it. 

The  highest  order  of  diplomatist,  in  the  estimation  of 
Upton,  was  the  man  who,  at  once,  knew  what  was  possible 
to  be  done.  It  was  his  own  peculiar  quality  to  possess  this 
gift ;  but  great  as  his  natural  acuteness  was,  it  would  not 
have  availed  him,  without  those  secret  springs  of  intelligence 
we  have  alluded  to.  There  is  no  saying  to  what  limit  he 
might  not  have  carried  this  faculty,  had  it  not  been  that  one 
deteriorating  and  detracting  feature  marred  and  disfigured 
the  fairest  form  of  his  mind. 

He  could  not,  do  all  that  he  would,  disabuse  himself  of  a 
very  low  estimate  of  men  and  their  motives.  He  did  not 
slide  into  this  philosophy,  as  certain  indolent  people  do, 
just  to  save  them  the  trouble  of  discriminating ;  he  did  not 
acquire  it  by  the  hard  teachings  of  adversity.  No ;  it  came 
upon  him  slowly  and  gradually,  the  fruit,  as  he  believed,  of 
calm  judgment  and  much  reflection  upon  life.  As  little  did 
he  accept  it  willingly ;  he  even  labored  against  the  convic- 
tion :  but,  strive  as  he  might,  there  it  was,  and  there  it 
would  remain. 

His  fixed  impression  was,  that  in  every  circumstance  and 
event  in  life  there  was  always  a  dessous  des  cartes,  —  a 
deeper  game  concealed  beneath  the  surface,  —  and  that  it  was 
a  mere  question  of  skill  and  address  how  much  of  this 
penetrated  through  men's  actions.  If  this  theory  unravelled 
many  a  tangled  web  of  knavery  to  him,  it  also  served  to 
embarrass  and  confuse  him  in  situations  where  inferior 
minds  had  never  recognized  a  difficulty !  How  much  in- 
genuity did  he  expend  to  detect  what  had  no  existence ! 
How  wearily  did  he  try  for  soundings  where  there  was  no 
bottom ! 

Through  the  means  of  the  Princess  he  had  learned  — 
what  some  very  wise  heads  do  not  yet  like  to  acknowledge 
—  that  the   feeling   of   the   despotic   governments   towards 


286        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

England  was  very  different  from  what  it  had  been  at  the 
close  of  the  great  war  with  Napoleon.  They  had  grown 
more  dominant  and  exacting,  just  as  we  were  becoming 
every  hour  more  democratic.  To  maintain  our  old  relations 
with  them,  therefore,  on  the  old  footing,  would  be  only  to 
involve  ourselves  in  continual  diflSculty,  with  a  certainty  of 
final  failure ;  and  the  only  policy  that  remained  was  to  en- 
courage the  growth  of  liberal  opinions  on  the  Continent,  out 
of  which  new  alliances  might  be  formed,  to  recompense  us 
for  the  loss  of  the  old  ones.  There  is  a  story  told  of  a  cer- 
tain benevolent  prince,  whose  resoui'ces  were,  unhappily, 
not  commensurate  with  his  good  intentions,  and  whose 
ragged  retinue  wearied  him  with  entreaties  for  assistance. 
"Be  of  good  cheer,"  said  he,  one  day,  "I  have  ordered  a 
field  of  flax  to  be  sown,  and  you  shall  all  of  you  have  new 
shirts."  Such  were  pretty  much  the  position  and  policy  of 
England.  Out  of  our  crop  of  Constitutionalism  we  specu- 
lated on  a  rich  harvest,  to  be  afterwards  manufactured  for 
our  use  and  benefit.  We  leave  it  to  deeper  heads  to  say  if 
the  result  has  been  all  that  we  calculated  on,  and,  asking 
pardon  for  such  digression,  we  join  Sir  Horace  once  more. 

When  Sir  Horace  Upton  ordered  post-horses  to  his  car- 
riage, he  no  more  knew  where  he  was  going,  nor  where  he 
would  halt,  than  he  could  have  anticipated  what  course  any 
conversation  might  take  when  once  started.  He  had,  to  be 
sure,  a  certain  ideal  goal  to  be  reached ;  but  he  was  one  of 
those  men  who  liked  to  think  that  the  casual  interruptions 
one  meets  with  in  life  are  less  obstruction  than  opportunity ; 
so  that,  instead  of  deeming  these  subjects  for  regret  or 
impatience,  he  often  accepted  them  as  indications  that  there 
was  some  profit  to  be  derived  from  them,  —  a  kind  of  fatalism 
more  common  than  is  generally  believed.  When  he  set  out  for 
Sorrento  it  was  with  the  intention  of  going  direct  to  Massa ; 
not  that  this  state  lay  within  the  limits  his  functions  ascribed 
to  him,  —  that  being  probably  the  very  fact  which  imparted 
a  zest  to  the  journey.  Any  other  man  would  have  addressed 
himself  to  his  colleague  in  Tuscany,  or  wherever  he  might 
be ;  while  he,  being  Sir  Horace  Upton,  took  the  whole  busi- 
ness upon  himself  in  his  own  way.  Young  Massy 's  case 
opened  to  his  eyes  a  great  question,  viz.,  what  was  the  posi- 


A  DIPLOMATIST'S  DINNER.  287 

tion  the  Austrians  assumed  to  take  in  Italy  ?  For  any  care 
about  the  youth,  or  any  sympathy  with  his  sufferings,  he 
distressed  himself  little ;  not  that  he  was,  in  any  respect, 
heartless  or  unfeeling,  it  was  simply  that  greater  interests 
were  before  him.  Here  was  one  of  those  "grand  issues" 
that  he  felt  worthy  of  his  abilities,  —  it  was  a  cause  where  he 
was  proud  to  hold  a  brief. 

Resolving  all  his  plans  of  action  methodically,  yet  rapidly ; 
arranging  every  detail  in  his  own  mind,  even  to  the  use  of 
certain  expressions  he  was  to  employ,  —  he  arrived  at  the 
palace  of  the  Embassy,  where  he  desii-ed  to  halt  to  take  up 
his  letters  and  make  a  few  preparations  before  his  departure. 
His  Maestro  di  Casa,  Signor  Franchetti,  was  in  waiting  for 
his  arrival,  and  respectfully  assured  him  "that  all  was  in 
readiness,  and  that  his  Excellency  would  be  perfectly  satis- 
fied. We  had,  it  is  true,"  continued  he,  "a  difficulty  about 
the  fish,  but  I  sent  off  an  express  to  Baia,  and  we  have 
secured  a  sturgeon." 

' '  What  are  you  raving  about,  caro  Pipo  ? "  said  the 
Minister;  "what  is  all  this  long  story  of  Baia  and  the 
fish?" 

"Has  your  Excellency  forgotten  that  we  have  a  grand 
dinner  to-day,  at  eight  o'clock ;  that  the  Prince  Maximilian 
of  Bavaria  and  all  the  foreign  ambassadors  are  invited  ?  " 

"  Is  this  Saturday,  Pipo?"  said  Sir  Horace,  blandly. 

"Yes,  your  Excellency." 

"  Send  Mr.  Brockett  to  me,"  said  Sir  Horace,  as  he 
slowly  mounted  the  stairs  to  his  own  apartment. 

Sir  Horace  was  stretched  on  a  sofa,  in  all  the  easy  luxury 
of  magnificent  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  when  Mr.  Brockett 
entered ;  and  without  any  preliminary  of  greeting  he  said, 
with  a  quiet  laugh,  "You  have  let  me  forget  all  about  the 
dinner  to-day,  Brockett !  " 

"I  thought  you  knew  it;  you  took  gi'eat  trouble  about 
the  persons  to  be  asked,  and  you  canvassed  whether  the  Due 
de  Borodino,  being  only  a  Charge  d' Affaires  —  " 

"There,  there;  don't  you  see  the  —  the  inappropriateness 
of  what  you  are  doing?  Even  in  England  a  man  is  not 
asked  to  criminate  himself.     How  many  are  coming  ?  " 

"  Nineteen  ;  the  '  Nonce  '  is  ill,  and  has  sent  an  apology." 


288        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

''Then  the  party  can  be  eighteen,  Brockett;  you  must 
tell  them  that  1  am  ill,  —  too  ill  to  come  to  dinner.  I  know 
the  Prince  Max  very  well,  —  he  '11  not  take  it  badly ;  and  as 
to  Cineselli,  we  shall  see  what  humor  he  is  in!  " 

' '  But  they  '11  know  that  you  arrived  here  this  afternoon ; 
they  '11  naturally  suppose  —  " 

' '  They  '11  naturally  suppose  —  if  people  ever  do  anything 
so  intensely  stupid  as  naturally  to  suppose  anything  —  that 
I  am  the  best  judge  of  my  own  health  ;  and  so,  Mr.  Brockett, 
you  may  as  well  con  over  the  terms  by  which  you  may  best 
acquaint  the  company  with  the  reasons  for  my  absence ;  and 
if  the  Prince  proposes  a  visit  to  me  in  the  evening,  let  him 
come ;  he  '11  find  me  here  in  my  own  room.  Would  you  do 
me  the  kindness  to  let  Antinori  fetch  his  cupping-glasses, 
and  tell  Franchetti  also  that  I  '11  take  my  chicken  grilled,  not 
roasted.  I'll  look  over  the  treaty  in  the  evening.  One 
mushroom,  only  one,  he  may  give  me,  and  the  Carlsbad 
water,  at  28  degrees.  I  'm  very  troublesome,  Brockett,  but 
I  'm  sure  you  '11  excuse  it.  Thanks,  thanks ;  "  and  he 
pressed  the  Secretary's  hand,  and  gave  him  a  smile,  whose 
blandishment  had  often  done  good  service,  and  would  do  so 
again ! 

To  almost  any  other  man  in  the  world  this  interruption  to 
his  journey  —  this  sudden  tidings  of  a  formally-arranged 
dinner  which  he  could  not  or  would  not  attend — would 
have  proved  a  source  of  chagrin  and  dissatisfaction.  Not 
so  with  Upton ;  he  liked  a  "  contrariety."  Whatever  stirred 
the  still  waters  of  life,  even  though  it  should  be  a  head- wind, 
was  far  more  grateful  than  a  calm !  He  laughed  to  himself 
at  the  various  comments  his  company  were  sure  to  pass  over 
his  conduct ;  he  pictured  to  his  mind  the  anger  of  some  and 
the  astonishment  of  others,  and  revelled  in  the  thought  of 
the  courtier-like  indignation  such  treatment  of  a  Royal  High- 
ness was  certain  to  elicit. 

"But  who  can  answer  for  his  health?"  said  he,  with  an 
easy  laugh  to  himself.  "  Who  can  promise  what  he  may  be 
ten  days  hence  ?  "  The  appearance  of  his  dinner  —  if  one 
may  dignify  by  such  a  name  the  half  of  a  chicken,  flanked 
by  a  roasted  apple  and  a  biscuit  —  cut  short  his  lucubra- 
tions ;  and  Sir  Horace  ate  and  sipped  his  Carlsbad  with  as 


A  DIPLOMATIST'S  DINNER.  289 

much  enjoyment  as  many  another  man  has  felt  over  venison 
and  Chambertin. 

*' Are  they  arrived,  Pipo?"  said  he,  as  his  servant  re- 
moved the  dessert  of  two  figs  and  a  lime. 

''  Yes,  your  Excellency,  they  are  at  table." 

*'  How  many  are  there?  '* 

*'  Seventeen,  sir,  and  Mr.  Brockett." 

*'  Did  the  Prince  seem  to  —  to  feel  my  absence,  Pipo?" 

'*  I  thought  he  appeared  very  sorry  for  your  Excellency 
when  Mr.  Brockett  spoke  to  him,  and  he  whispered  some- 
thing to  the  aide-de-camp  beside  him." 

*'  And  the  others,  how  did  they  take  it?  " 

*' Count  Tarrocco  said  he'd  retii-e,  sir,  that  he  could  not 
dine  where  the  host  was  too  ill  to  receive  him  ;  but  the  Due 
de  Campo  Stretto  said  it  was  impossible  they  could  leave  the 
room  while  a  '  Royal  Highness '  continued  to  remain  in  it ; 
and  they  all  agreed  with  him." 

*'  Ha,  ha,  ha !  "  laughed  Upton,  in  a  low  tone.  "  I  hope 
the  dinner  is  a  good  one  ?  " 

*'It  is  exquisite,  sir;  the  Prince  ate  some  of  the  caviare 
soup,  and  was  asking  a  second  time  for  the  '  pain  des 
ortolans '  when  I  left  the  room." 

''And  the  wine,  Pipo?  have  you  given  them  that  rare 
'La  Rose'?" 

"Yes,  your  Excellency,  and  the  '  Klausthaller  cabinet;* 
his  Royal  Highness  asked  for  it." 

"Go  back,  then,  now.  I  want  for  nothing  more;  only 
drop  in  here  by  and  by,  and  tell  me  how  all  goes  on.  Just 
light  that  pastil  before  you  go ;  there  —  that  will  do." 

And  once  more  his  Excellency  was  left  to  himself.  In 
that  vast  palace,  —  the  once  home  of  a  royal  prince,  —  no 
sounds  of  the  distant  revelry  could  reach  the  remote  quarter 
where  he  sat,  and  all  was  silent  and  still  around  him,  and 
Upton  was  free  to  ruminate  and  reflect  at  ease.  There  was 
a  sense  of  haughty  triumph  in  thinking  that  beneath  his  roof, 
at  that  very  moment,  were  assembled  the  great  representa- 
tives of  almost  every  important  state  of  Europe,  to  whom 
he  had  not  deigned  to  accord  the  honor  of  his  presence ;  but 
though  this  thought  did  flit  across  his  mind,  far  more  was  he 
intent  on  reflecting  what  might  be  the  consequences  —  good 

19 


290         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

or  evil  —  of  the  incident.  "And  then,"  said  he,  aloud, 
*'  how  will  Printing  House  Square  treat  us?  What  a  fulmi- 
nating leader  shall  we  not  have,  denouncing  either  our  inso- 
lence or  our  incompetence,  ending  with  the  words :  '  If, 
then.  Sir  Horace  Upton  be  not  incapacitated  from  illness 
for  the  discharge  of  his  high  functions,  it  is  full  time  for 
his  Government  to  withdraw  him  from  a  sphere  where  his 
caprice  and  impertinence  have  rendered  him  something  worse 
than  useless ; '  and  then  will  come  a  flood  of  petty  corrobo- 
rations,—  the  tourist  tribe  who  heard  of  us  at  Berlin,  or 
called  upon  as  at  the  Hague,  and  whose  unreturned  cards 
and  uninvited  wives  are  counts  in  the  long  indictment 
against  us.  What  a  sure  road  to  private  friendships  is  di- 
plomacy !  How  certain  is  one  of  conciliating  the  world's  good 
opinion  by  belonging  to  it !  I  wish  I  had  followed  the  law, 
or  medicine,'*  muttered  he;  "they  are  both  abstruse,  both 
interesting ;  or  been  a  gardener,  or  a  shipwright,  or  a  mathe- 
matical instrument  maker,  or  —  "  Whatever  the  next  choice 
might  have  been  we  know  not,  for  he  dropped  off  asleep. 

From  that  pleasant  slumber,  and  a  dream  of  Heaven 
knows  what  life  of  Arcadian  simplicity,  of  rippling  streams 
and  soft-eyed  shepherdesses,  he  was  destined  to  be  some- 
what suddenly,  if  not  rudely,  aroused,  as  Franchetti  intro- 
duced a  stranger  who  would  accept  no  denial. 

"Your  people  were  not  for  letting  me  up,  Upton,"  cried 
a  rich,  mellow  voice  ;  and  Harcourt  stood  before  him,  bronzed 
and  weather-beaten,  as  he  came  off  his  journey. 

"You,  George?  Is  it  possible!  "  exclaimed  Sir  Horace; 
"what  best  of  all  lucky  winds  has  driven  you  here?  I'm 
not  sure  I  was  n't  dreaming  of  you  this  very  moment.  I 
know  I  have  had  a  vision  of  angelic  innocence  and  sim- 
plicity, which  you  must  have  had  your  part  in ;  but  do  tell 
me  when  did  you  arrive,  and  whence  —  " 

"  Not  till  I  have  dined,  by  Jove !  I  have  tasted  nothing 
since  daybreak,  and  then  it  was  only  a  mere  apology  for  a 
breakfast." 

"Franchetti,  get  something,  will  you?"  said  Upton,  lan- 
guidly,—  "a  cutlet,  a  fowl;  anything  that  can  be  had  at 
once." 

"Nothing   of  the  kind,    Signor  Franchetti,"   interposed 


A  DIPLOMATIST'S  DINNER.  291 

Harcourt;  "if  I  have  a  wolfs  appetite,  I  have  a  man's 
patience.    Let  me  have  a  real  dinner,  —  soup,  fish,  an  entree, 

—  two  if  you  like,  —  roast  beef ;  and  I  leave  the  wind-up 
to  your  own  discretion,  only  premising  that  I  like  game,  and 
have  a  weakness  for  woodcocks.  By  the  way,  does  this 
climate  suit  Bordeaux,  Upton  ?  " 

''  They  tell  me  so,  and  mine  has  a  good  reputation." 

"  Then  claret  be  it,  and  no  other  wine.  Don't  I  make  my- 
self at  home,  old  fellow,  eh?"  said  he,  clapping  Upton  on 
the  shoulder.  ''Have  I  not  taken  his  Majesty's  Embassy 
by  storm,  eh?" 

"  We  surrender  at  discretion,  only  too  glad  to  receive  our 
vanquisher.  Well,  and  how  do  you  find  me  looking?  Be 
candid :  how  do  I  seem  to  your  eyes  ?  " 

"  Pretty  much  as  I  have  seen  you  these  last  fifteen  years, 

—  not  an  hour  older,  at  all  events.  That  same  delicacy  of 
constitution  is  a  confounded  deal  better  than  most  men's 
strong  health,  for  it  never  wears  out ;  but  I  have  always  said 
it,  Upton  will  see  us  all  down !  " 

Sir  Horace  sighed,  as  though  this  were  too  pleasant  to  be 
true. 

''Well,"  said  he,  at  last,  "but  you  have  not  told  me 
what  good  chance  has  brought  you  here.  Is  it  the  first  post- 
station  on  the  way  to  India  ?  " 

"  No;  they've  taken  me  off  the  saddle,  and  given  me  a 
staff  appointment  at  Corfu.  I  'm  going  out  second  in  com- 
mand there ;  and  whether  it  was  to  prevent  my  teasing  them 
for  something  else,  or  that  there  was  really  some  urgency  in 
the  matter,  they  ordered  me  off  at  once." 

"Are  they  reinforcing  the  garrison  there?"  asked 
Upton. 

"  No ;  not  so  far  as  I  have  heard." 

"  It  were  better  policy  to  do  so  than  to  send  out  a  '  com- 
mander-in-chief and  a  drummer  of  great  experience,' "  mut- 
tered Upton  to  himself ;  but  Harcourt  could  not  catch  the 
remark.  "  Have  you  any  news  stirring  in  England?  What 
do  the  clubs  talk  about?"  asked  Sir  Horace. 

"  Glencore's  business  occupied  them  for  the  last  week  or 
so ;  now,  I  think,  it  is  yourself  furnishes  the  chief  topic  for 
speculation." 

"  What  of  me?"  asked  Upton,  eagerly. 


292        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"Why,  the  rumor  goes  that  you  are  to  have  the  Foreign 
Office ;  Adderley,  they  say,  goes  out,  and  Conway  and 
yourself  are  the  favorites,  the  odds  being  slightly  on  his 
side." 

"This  is  all  news  to  me,  George,"  said  Upton,  with  a 
degree  of  animation  that  had  nothing  fictitious  about  it;  "I 
have  had  a  note  from  Adderley  in  the  last  bag,  and  there 's 
not  a  word  about  these  changes." 

"  Possibly ;  but  perhaps  my  news  is  later.  What  I  allude 
to  is  said  to  have  occurred  the  day  I  started." 

"  Ah,  very  true ;  and  now  I  remember  that  the  messenger 
came  round  by  Vienna,  sent  there  by  Adderley,  doubtless," 
muttered  he,  "to  consult  Conway  before  seeing  me;  and,  I 
have  little  doubt,  with  a  letter  for  me  in  the  event  of  Conway 
declining." 

"  Well,  have  you  hit  upon  the  solution  of  it?"  said  Har- 
court,  who  had  not  followed  him  through  his  half-uttered 
observation. 

"Perhaps  so,"  said  Upton,  slowly,  while  he  leaned  his 
head  upon  his  hand,  and  fell  into  a  fit  of  meditation. 
Meanwhile,  Harcourt's  dinner  made  its  appearance,  and 
the  Colonel  seated  himself  at  the  table  with  a  traveller's 
appetite. 

"  Whenever  any  one  has  called  you  a  selfish  fellow,  Upton," 
said  he,  as  he  helped  himself  twice  from  the  same  dish,  "  I 
have  always  denied  it,  and  on  this  good  ground,  that,  had 
you  been  so,  you  had  never  kept  the  best  cook  in  Europe, 
while  unable  to  enjoy  his  talents.  What  a  rare  artist  must 
this  be  !     What  *s  his  name  ?  " 

"  Pipo,  how  is  he  called?  "  said  Upton,  languidly. 

"Monsieur  Carmael,  your  Excellency." 

"Ah,  to  be  sure;  a  person  of  excellent  family.  I  Ve 
been  told  he's  from  Provence,"  said  Upton,  in  the  same 
weary  voice. 

"  I  could  have  sworn  to  his  birthplace,"  cried  Harcourt; 
"  no  man  can  manage  cheese  and  olives  in  cookery  but  a 
Provencal.  Ah,  what  a  glass  of  Bordeaux !  To  your  good 
health,  Upton,  and  to  the  day  that  you  may  be  able  to  enjoy 
this  as  I  do,"  said  he,  as  he  tossed  off  a  bumper. 

"  It  does  me  good  even  to  witness  the  pleasure  it  yields," 
said  Upton,  blandly. 


A  DIPLOMATIST'S   DINNER.  293 

*'By  Jove!  then,  I'll  be  worth  a  whole  course  of  tonics 
to  you,  for  I  most  thoroughly  appreciate  all  the  good  things 
you  have  given  me.  By  the  way,  how  are  you  off  for  dinner 
company  here,  — any  pleasant  people?  " 

"  I  have  no  health  for  pleasant  people,  my  dear  Harcourt ; 
like  horse  exercise,  they  only  agree  with  you  when  you  are 
strong  enough  not  to  require  them." 

'^  Then  what  have  you  got?"  asked  the  Colonel,  some- 
what abashed. 

"Princes,  generals,  envoys,  and  heads  of  departments." 

''  Good  heavens  !  legions  of  honor  and  golden  fleeces  !  " 

"Just  so,"  said  Upton,  smiling  at  the  dismay  in  the 
other's  countenance ;  "I  have  had  such  a  party  as  you 
describe  to-day.     Are  they  gone  yet,  Franchetti?  " 

"They're  at  coffee,  your  Excellency,  but  the  Prince  has 
ordered  his  carriage." 

"And  you  did  not  go  near  them?"  asked  Harcoui-t,  in 
amazement. 

"  No ;  I  was  poorly,  as  you  see  me,"  said  Upton,  smiling. 
"Pipo  tells  me,  however,  that  the  dinner  was  a  good  one, 
and  I  am  sure  they  pardon  my  absence." 

"Foreign  ease,  I've  no  doubt;  though  I  can't  say  I  like 
it,"  muttered  Hai-court.  "  At  all  events,  it  is  not  for  me  to 
complain,  since  the  accident  has  given  me  the  pleasure  of 
your  society." 

"  You  are  about  the  only  man  I  could  have  admitted," 
said  Upton,  with  a  certain  graciousness  of  look  and  manner 
that,  perhaps,  detracted  a  little  from  its  sincerity. 

Fortunately,  not  so  to  Harcourt's  eyes,  for  he  accepted 
the  speech  in  all  honesty  and  good  faith,  as  he  said,  "  Thank 
you  heartily,  my  boy.  The  welcome  is  better  even  than  the 
dinner,  and  that  is  saying  a  good  deal.  No  more  wine, 
thank  you  ;  I  'm  going  to  have  a  cigar,  and,  with  your  leave, 
I  '11  ask  for  some  brandy  and  water." 

This  was  addressed  to  Franchetti,  who  speedily  reappeared 
with  a  liqueur  stand  and  an  ebony  cigar-case. 

"  Try  these,  George  ;  they  're  better  than  your  own,"  said 
Upton,  dryly. 

"That  I  will,"  cried  Harcourt,  laughing;  "I'm  deter- 
mined to  draw  all  my  resources  from  the  country  in  occupa- 
tion, especially  as  they  are  superior  to  what  I  can  obtain 


294        THE  FORTUNES  OF   GLENCORE. 

from  home.  This  same  career  of  yours,  Upton,  strikes  me 
as  rather  a  good  thing.  You  have  all  these  things  duty 
free?" 

''  Yes,  we  have  that  privilege,"  said  Upton,  sighing. 

"  And  the  privilege  of  drawing  some  few  thousand  pounds 
per  annum,  paid  messengers  to  and  from  England,  secret- 
service  money,  and  the  rest  of  it,  eh  ?  " 

Upton  smiled,  and  sighed  again. 

*' And  what  do  you  do  for  all  that,  —  I  mean,  what  are 
you  expected  to  do  ?  " 

''Keep  your  party  in  when  they  are  in;  disconcert  the 
enemy  when  your  friends  are  out." 

''And  is  that  always  a  safe  game?"  asked  Harcourt, 
eagerly. 

"  Not  when  played  by  unskilful  players,  my  dear  George. 
They  occasionally  make  sad  work,  and  get  bowled  out 
themselves  for  their  pains ;  but  there 's  no  great  harm  in 
that  neither." 

"  How  do  you  mean  there 's  no  harm  in  it?  " 

"  Simply,  that  if  a  man  can't  keep  his  saddle,  he  ought  n*t 
to  try  to  ride  foremost;  but  these  speculations  will  only 
puzzle  you,  my  dear  Harcourt.  What  of  Glencore?  You 
said  awhile  ago  that  the  town  was  talking  of  him  —  how 
and  wherefore  was  it?" 

"  Haven't  you  heard  the  story,  then?  " 

"Not  a  word  of  it." 

"  Well,  I  'm  a  bad  narrator ;  besides,  I  don't  know  where 
to  begin ;  and  even  if  I  did,  I  have  nothing  to  tell  but  the 
odds  and  ends  of  club  gossip,  for  I  conclude  nobody  knows 
all  the  facts  but  the  King  himself." 

"  If  I  were  given  to  impatience,  George,  you  would  be  a 
most  consummate  plague  to  me,"  said  Upton;  "but  I  am 
not.  Go  on,  however,  in  your  own  blundering  way,  and 
leave  me  to  glean  what  I  can  in  mine.'* 

Cheered  and  encouraged  by  this  flattering  speech,  Har- 
court did  begin ;  but,  more  courteous  to  him  than  Sir 
Horace,  we  mean  to  accord  him  a  new  chapter  for  his 
revelations ;  premising  the  while  to  our  reader  that  the 
Colonel,  like  the  knife-grinder,  had  really  ' '  no  story  to 
tell." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

A   VERY   BROKEN    NARRATIVE. 

"You  want  to  hear  all  about  Glencore?"  said  Harcourt, 
as,  seated  in  the  easiest  of  attitudes  in  an  easy-chair,  he 
puffed  his  cigar  luxuriously;  "and  when  I  have  told  you 
all  I  know,  the  chances  are  you'll  be  little  the  wiser." 
Upton  smiled  a  bland  assent  to  this  exordium,  but  in  such 
a  way  as  to  make  Harcourt  feel  less  at  ease  than  before. 

"I  mean,"  said  the  Colonel,  "that  I  have  little  to  offer 
you  beyond  the  guesses  and  surmises  of  club  talk.  It  will 
be  for  your  own  intelligence  to  penetrate  through  the  ob- 
scurity afterwards.     You  understand  me  ?  " 

"I  believe  I  understand  you,"  said  Upton,  slowly,  and 
with  the  same  quiet  smile.  Now,  this  cold,  semi-sarcastic 
manner  of  Upton  was  the  one  sole  thing  in  the  world  which 
the  honest  Colonel  could  not  stand  up  against;  he  always 
felt  as  though  it  were  the  prelude  to  something  cutting  or 
offensive,  —  some  sly  impertinence  that  he  could  not  detect 
till  too  late  to  resent,  —  some  insinuation  that  might  give 
the  point  to  a  whole  conversation,  and  yet  be  undiscovered 
by  him  till  the  day  following.  Little  as  Harcourt  was  given 
to  wronging  his  neighbor,  he  in  this  instance  was  palpably 
unjust ;  Upton's  manner  being  nothing  more  than  the  im- 
press made  upon  a  very  subtle  man  by  qualities  very  unlike 
any  of  his  own,  and  which  in  their  newness  amused  him. 
The  very  look  of  satire  was  as  often  an  expression  of  sorrow 
and  regret  that  he  could  not  be  as  susceptible  —  as  easy  of 
deception  —  as  those  about  him.  Let  us  pardon  our  worthy 
Colonel  if  he  did  not  comprehend  this ;  shrewder  heads  than 
his  own  had  made  the  same  mistake.  Half  to  resent  this 
covert  slyness,  half  to  arouse  himself  to  any  conflict  before 
him,  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  determination,  "  It  is  only  fair  to 
tell  you  that  you  are  yourself  to  blame  for  anything  that 
may  have  befallen  poor  Glencore." 


296        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"  I  to  blame!  Why,' my  dear  Harcourt,  you  are  surely 
dreaming." 

' '  As  wide  awake  as  ever  I  was.  If  it  had  not  been  for 
a  blunder  of  yours,  —  an  unpardonable  blunder,  seeing  what 
has  come  of  it,  —  sending  a  pack  of  trash  to  me  about  salt 
and  sulphur,  while  you  forwarded  a  private  letter  about 
Glencore  to  the  Foreign  Office,  all  this  might  not  have 
happened." 

*'  I  remember  that  it  was  a  most  disagreeable  mistake. 
I  have  paid  heavily  for  it,  too.  That  lotion  for  the  cervi- 
cal vertebrae  has  come  back  all  torn,  and  we  cannot  make 
out  whether  it  be  a  phosphate  or  a  prot'-oxide  of  bismuth. 
You  don't  happen  to  remember  ?  " 

"I?  —  of  course  I  know  nothing  about  it.  I'd  as  soon 
have  taken  a  porcupine  for  a  pillow  as  I  'd  have  adventured 
on  the  confounded  mixture.  But,  as  I  was  saying,  that 
blessed  letter,  written  by  some  Princess  or  other,  as  I 
understand,  fell  into  the  King's  hands,  and  the  consequence 
was  that  he  sent  off  immediately  to  Glencore  an  order  to 
go  down  to  him  at  Brighton.  Naturally  enough,  I  thought 
he  'd  not  go ;  he  had  the  good  and  sufficient  pretext  of  his 
bad  health  to  excuse  him.  Nobody  had  seen  him  abroad 
in  the  world  for  years  back,  and  it  was  easy  enough  to  say 
that  he  could  not  bear  the  journey.  Nothing  of  the  kind ; 
he  received  the  command  as  willingly  as  he  might  have  done 
an  invitation  to  dinner  fifteen  years  ago,  and  talked  of 
nothing  else  for  the  whole  evening  after  but  of  his  old  days 
and  nights  in  Carlton  House ;  how  gracious  the  Prince  used 
to  be  to  him  formerly;  how  constantly  he  was  a  guest  at 
his  table ;  what  a  brilliant  society  it  was ;  how  full  of  wit 
and  the  rest  of  it;  till,  by  Jove,  what  between  drinking 
more  wine  than  he  was  accustomed  to  take,  and  the  excite- 
ment of  his  own  talking,  he  became  quite  wild  and  unman- 
ageable. He  was  not  drunk,  nor  anything  like  it,  it  was 
rather  the  state  of  a  man  whose  mind  had  got  some  sudden 
shock ;  for  in  the  midst  of  perfectly  rational  conversation, 
he  would  fall  into  paroxysms  of  violent  passion,  inveighing 
against  every  one,  and  declaring  that  he  never  had  pos- 
sessed one  true-hearted,  honest  friend  in  his  life. 

''It  was  not  without  great  difficulty  that  I  got  him  back 


A  VERY  BROKEN  NARRATIVE.         297 

to  my  lodgings,  for  we  had  gone  to  dine  at  Richmond. 
Then  we  put  him  to  bed,  and  I  sent  for  Hunter,  who  came 
on  the  instant.  Though  by  this  time  Glencore  was  much 
more  calm  and  composed.  Hunter  called  the  case  brain 
fever ;  had  his  hair  cut  quite  close,  and  ice  applied  to  the 
head.  Without  any  knowledge  of  his  history  or  even  of  his 
name,  Hunter  pronounced  him  to  be  a  man  whose  intellect 
had  received  some  terrible  shock,  and  that  the  present  was 
simply  an  acute  attack  of  a  long-existent  malady." 

"  Did  he  use  any  irritants?  "  asked  Upton,  anxiously. 

"No;  he  advised  nothing  but  the  cold  during  the  night." 

*'Ah!  what  a  mistake,"  sighed  Upton,  heavily.  "It 
was  precisely  the  case  for  the  cervical  lotion  I  was  speak- 
ing of.     Of  course  he  was  much  worse  next  morning  ?  " 

"That  he  was;  not  as  regarded  his  reason,  however, 
for  he  could  talk  collectedly  enough,  but  he  was  irritable 
and  passionate  to  a  degree  scarcely  credible :  would  not 
endure  the  slightest  opposition,  and  so  suspectful  of  every- 
thing and  everybody  that  if  he  overheard  a  whisper  it 
threw  him  into  a  convulsion  of  anger.  Hunter's  opinion 
was  evidently  a  gloomy  one,  and  he  said  to  me  as  we  went 
downstau-s,  '  He  may  come  through  it  with  life,  but  scarcely 
with  a  sound  intellect.'  This  was  a  heavy  blow  to  me,  for 
I  could  not  entirely  acquit  myself  of  the  fault  of  having 
counselled  this  visit  to  Brighton,  which  I  now  perceived  had 
made  such  a  deep  impression  upon  him.  I  roused  myself, 
however,  to  meet  the  emergency,  and  walked  down  to  St. 
James's  to  obtain  some  means  of  letting  the  King  know  that 
Glencore  was  too  ill  to  keep  his  appointment.  Fortunately, 
I  met  Knighton,  who  was  just  setting  off  to  Brighton,  and 
who  promised  to  take  charge  of  the  commission.  I  then 
strolled  over  to  Brookes' s  to  see  the  morning  papers,  and 
lounged  till  about  four  o'clock,  when  I  turned  homeward. 

"  Gloomy  and  sad  I  was  as  I  reached  my  door,  and  rang 
the  bell  with  a  cautious  hand.  They  did  not  hear  the  sum- 
mons, and  I  was  forced  to  ring  again,  when  the  door  was 
opened  by  my  servant,  who  stood  pale  and  trembling  be- 
fore me.  'He's  gone,  sir, — he's  gone,'  cried  he,  almost 
sobbing. 

' ' '  Good  Heaven ! '  cried  I.     '  Dead  ?  * 


298  '  .      THE  FORTUNES  OE  GLENCORE. 

'' '  No,  sir,  gone  away,  — driven  off,  no  one  knows  where. 
I  had  just  gone  out  to  the  chemist's,  and  was  obliged  to  call 
round  at  Doctor  Hunter's  about  a  word  in  the  prescription 
they  could  n't  read,  and  when  I  came  back  he  was  away.' 

''I  then  ascertained  that  the  carriage  which  had  been 
ordered  the  day  before  at  a  particular  hour,  and  which  we 
had  forgotten  to  countermand,  had  arrived  during  my 
servant's  absence.  Glencore,  hearing  it  stop  at  the  door, 
inquired  whose  it  was,  and  as  suddenly  springing  out  of  bed, 
proceeded  to  dress  himself,  which  he  did,  in  the  suit  he  had 
ordered  to  wait  on  the  King.  So  apparently  reasonable  was 
he  in  all  he  said,  and  such  an  ak  of  purpose  did  he  assume, 
that  the  nurse-tender  averred  she  could  not  dare  to  interpose, 
believing  that  his  attack  might  possibly  be  some  sort  of 
passing  access  that  he  was  accustomed  to,  and  knew  best 
how  to  deal  with. 

'^  I  did  not  lose  a  moment,  but,  ordering  post-horses,  pur- 
sued him  with  all  speed.  On  reaching  Croydon,  I  heard  he 
had  passed  about  two  hours  before ;  but  though  I  did  my 
best,  it  was  in  vain.  I  arrived  at  Brighton  late  at  night, 
only  to  learn  that  a  gentleman  had  got  out  at  the  Pavilion, 
and  had  not  left  it  since. 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  all  I  have  ever  suffered  in  my  life 
equalled  what  I  went  through  in  the  two  weary  hours  that  I 
passed  walking  up  and  down  outside  that  low  paling  that 
skirts  tiie  Palace  garden.  The  poor  fellow,  in  all  his  misery, 
came  before  me  in  so  many  shapes ;  sometimes  wandering  in 
intellect  —  sometimes  awake  and  conscious  of  his  sufferings 
—  now  trying  to  comport  himself  as  became  the  presence  he 
was  in  —  now  reckless  of  all  the  world  and  everything. 
What  could  have  happened  to  detain  him  so  long?  What 
had  been  the  course  of  events  since  he  passed  that  threshold  ? 
were  questions  that  again  and  again  crossed  me. 

"  I  tried  to  make  my  way  in,  —  I  know  not  exactly  what  I 
meant  to  do  afterwards ;  but  the  sentries  refused  me  admit- 
tance. I  thought  of  scaling  the  enclosure,  and  reaching  the 
Palace  through  the  garden ;  but  the  police  kept  strict  watch 
on  every  side.  At  last,  it  was  nigh  twelve  o'clock,  that  I 
heard  a  sentry  challenge  some  one,  and  shortly  after  a  figure 
passed  out  and  walked  towards  the  pier.     I  followed,  deter- 


A  VERY  BROKEN  NARRATIVE.         299 

mined  to  make  inquiry,  no  matter  of  whom.  He  walked  so 
rapidly,  however,  that  I  was  forced  to  run  to  overtake  him. 
This  attracted  his  notice;  he  turned  hastily,  and  by  the 
straggling  moonlight  I  recognized  Glencore. 

''  He  stood  for  a  moment  still,  and  beckoning  me  towards 
him,  he  took  my  arm  in  silence,  and  we  walked  onward  in 
the  direction  of  the  sea-shore.  It  was  now  a  wild  and  gusty 
night.  The  clouds  drifted  fast,  shutting  out  the  moon  at 
intervals,  and  the  sea  broke  harshly  along  the  strand. 

••'I  cannot  tell  you  the  rush  of  strange  and  painful 
emotions  which  came  upon  me  as  I  thus  walked  along,  while 
not  a  word  passed  between  us.  As  for  myself,  I  felt  that 
the  slightest  word  from  me  might,  perhaps,  change  the  whole 
current  of  his  thoughts,  and  thus  destroy  my  only  chance  of 
any  clew  to  what  was  passing  within  him.  '  Are  you  cold?  * 
said  he,  at  length,  feeling  possibly  a  slight  tremor  in  my 
arm.  '  Not  cold,  exactly,'  said  I,  '  but  the  night  is  fresh, 
and  I  half  suspect  too  fresh  for  yoic'  '  Feel  that,'  said  he, 
placing  his  hand  in  mine ;  and  it  was  burning.  '  The  breeze 
that  comes  off  the  sea  is  grateful  to  me,  for  I  am  like  one  on 
fire.'  ^  Then  I  am  certain,  my  dear  Glencore,'  said  I,  '•  that 
this  is  a  great  imprudence.  Let  us  turn  back,  towards  the 
inn.' 

"  He  made  no  reply,  but  with  a  rough  motion  of  his  arm 
moved  forward  as  before.  '  Three  hours  and  more,'  said  he, 
with  a  full  and  stern  utterance,  '  they  kept  me  waiting. 
There  were  Ministers  with  the  King;  there  was  some  for- 
eign envoy,  too,  to  be  presented ;  and  if  I  had  not  gone  in 
alone  and  unannounced,  I  might  still  be  in  the  ante-chamber. 
How  he  stared  at  me,  Harcourt,  and  my  close-cropped  hair. 
It  was  that  seemed  first  to  strike  him,  as  he  said,  "Have 
you  had  an  illness  lately  ?  "  He  looked  poorly,  too,  bloated 
and  pale,  and  like  one  who  fretted,  and  I  told  him  so. 
"  We  are  both  changed,  sir,"  said  I,  —  "  sadly  changed  since 
we  met  last.  We  might  almost  begin  to  hope  that  another 
change  is  not  far  off,  —  the  last  and  the  best  one."  I  don't 
remember  what  he  answered.  It  was,  I  think,  something 
about  who  came  along  with  me  from  town,  and  who  was 
with  me  at  Brighton,  —  I  forget  exactly  ;  but  I  know  that  he 
sent  for  Knighton,  and  made  him  feel  my  pulse.     "You'll 


300        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

find  it  rapid  enough,  I  've  no  doubt,  Sir  William,"  said  I. 
"I  rose  from  a  sick  bed  to  come  here;  his  Majesty  had 
deigned  to  wish  to  see  me.'*  Then  the  King  stopped  me, 
and  made  a  sign  to  Knighton  to  withdraw. 

"  '  Wasn't  it  a  strange  situation,  Harcourt,  to  be  seated 
there  beside  the  King,  alone  ?  None  other  present,  —  all  to 
ourselves,  —  talking  as  you  and  I  might  talk  of  what  inter- 
ested us  most  of  all  the  world;  and  he  showing  me  that 
letter,  —  the  letter  that  ought  to  have  come  to  me.  How  he 
could  do  it  I  know  not.  Neither  you  nor  I,  George,  could 
have  done  so ;  for,  after  all,  she  was,  ay,  and  she  t5,  his 
wife.  He  could  not  avail  himself  of  my  stratagem.  I  said 
so  too,  and  he  answered,  "  Ay,  but  I  can  divorce  her  if  one 
half  of  that  be  true ;  "  and  he  pointed  to  the  letter.  "  The 
Lady  Glencore,"  said  he,  ''must  know  everything,  and  be 
willing  to  tell  it  too.  She  has  paid  the  heaviest  penalty 
ever  woman  paid  for  another.  Read  that."  And  I  read  it, 
—  ay,  I  read  it  four  times,  five  times  over;  and  then  my 
brain  began  to  burn,  and  a  thousand  fancies  flitted  across 
me,  and  though  he  talked  on,  I  heard  not  a  word. 

"'  "But  that  lady  is  my  wife,  sir,"  broke  I  in;  "and 
what  a  part  do  you  assign  her !  She  is  to  be  a  spy,  a  wit- 
ness, perhaps,  in  some  infamous  cause.  How  shall  I,  a 
peer  of  the  realm,  endure  to  see  my  name  thus  degraded? 
Is  it  Court  favor  can  recompense  me  for  lost  or  tarnished 
honor?"  "But  it  will  be  her  own  vindication,"  said  he. 
Her  own  vindication,  —  these  were  the  words,  George ;  she 
should  be  clear  of  all  reproach.  By  Heaven,  he  said  so, 
that  I  might  declare  it  before  the  world.  And  then  it 
should  be  proved  !  —  be  proved  !  How  base  a  man  can  be, 
even  though  he  wear  a  crown  !  Just  fancy  his  proposition ! 
But  I  spurned  it,  and  said,  "  You  must  seek  for  some  one 
with  a  longer  chance  of  life,  sir,  to  do  this ;  my  days  are  too 
brief  for  such  dishonor;  "  and  he  was  angry  with  me,  and 
said  I  had  forgotten  the  presence  in  which  I  stood.  It  was 
true,  I  had  forgotten  it. 

"  '  He  called  me  a  wretched  fool,  too,  as  I  tore  up  that 
letter.  That  was  wrong  in  me,  Harcourt,  was  it  not?  I 
did  not  see  him  go,  but  I  found  myself  alone  in  the  room, 
and  I  was  picking  up  the  fragments  of  the  letter  as  they 


A  VERY  BROKEN  NARRATIVE.        301 

entered.  They  were  less  than  courteous  to  me,  though  I 
told  them  who  I  was,  —  an  ancient  barony  better  than  half 
the  modern  marquisates.  I  gave  them  date  and  place  for  a 
creation  that  smacked  of  other  services  than  theirs.  Knigh- 
ton would  come  with  me,  but  I  shook  him  off.  Your  Court 
physician  can  carry  his  complaisance  even  to  poison.  By 
George !  it  is  their  chief  office,  and  I  know  well  what  snares 
are  now  in  store  for  me.'  * 

"  And  thence  h^  went  on  to  say  that  he  would  hasten  back 
to  his  Irish  solitude,  where  none  could  trace  him  out.  That 
there  his  life,  at  least,  would  be  secure,  and  no  emissaries  of 
the  King  dare  follow  him.  It  was  in  vain  I  tried  to  induce 
him  to  return,  even  for  one  night,  to  the  hotel ;  and  I  saw 
that  to  persist  in  my  endeavors  would  be  to  hazard  the  little 
influence  I  still  possessed  over  him.  I  could  not,  however, 
leave  the  poor  fellow  to  his  fate  without  at  least  the  assur- 
ance of  a  home  somewhere,  and  so  I  accompanied  him  to 
Ireland,  and  left  him  in  that  strange  old  ruin  where  we  once 
sojourned  together.  His  mind  had  gradually  calmed  down, 
but  a  deep  melancholy  had  gained  entire  possession  of  him, 
and  he  passed  whole  days  without  a  word.  I  saw  that  he 
often  labored  to  recall  some  of  the  events  of  the  interview 
with  the  King ;  but  his  memory  had  not  retained  them,  and 
he  seemed  like  one  eternally  engaged  in  some  problem  which 
his  faculties  could  not  solve. 

''  When  I  left  him  and  arrived  in  town,  I  found  the  clubs 
full  of  the  incident,  but  evidently  without  any  real  knowl- 
edge of  what  had  occurred;  since  the  version  was  that 
Glencore  had  asked  an  audience  of  the  King,  and  gone  down 
to  the  Pavilion  to  read  to  his  Majesty  a  most  atrocious 
narrative  of  the  Queen's  life  in  Italy,  offering  to  substantiate 
—  thi'ough  his  Italian  connection  —  every  allegation  it  con- 
tained, —  a  proposal  that,  of  course,  was  only  received  by 
the  King  in  the  light  of  an  insult ;  and  that  this  reception, 
so  different  from  all  his  expectations,  had  turned  his  head 
and  driven  him  completely  insane ! 

''  I  believe  now  I  have  told  you  everything  as  I  heard  it ; 
indeed,  I  have  given  you  Glencore's  own  words,  since,  with- 
out them,  I  could  not  convey  to  you  what  he  intended  to  say. 
The  whole  affair  is  a  puzzle  to  me,  for  I  am  unable  to  tell 


302        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

when  the  poor  fellow's  brain  was  wandering,  and  when  he 
spoke  under  the  guidance  of  right  reason.  You,  of  course, 
have  the  clew  to  it  all." 

''  I !     How  so?  "  cried  Upton. 

*'  You  have  seen  the  letter  which  caused  all  the  trouble; 
you  know  its  contents,  and  what  it  treats  of." 

''Very  true;  I  must  have  read  it;  but  I  have  not  the 
slightest  recollection  of  what  it  was  about.  There  was 
something,  I  know,  about  Glencore's  boy,  —  he  was  called 
Greppi,  though,  and  might  not  have  been  recognized ;  and 
there  was  some  gossip  about  the  Princess  of  Wales  —  the 
Queen,  as  they  call  her  now  —  and  her  ladies ;  but  I  must 
frankly  confess  it  did  not  interest  me,  and  I  have  forgotten 
it  all." 

''  Is  the  writer  of  the  letter  to  be  come  at?  " 

''Nothing  easier.  I'll  take  you  over  to  breakfast  with 
her  to-morrow  morning;  you  shall  catechise  her  yourself." 

"Oh!  sheis  then  — " 

"  She  is  the  Princess  Sabloukofif,  my  dear  George,  and  a 
very  charming  person,  as  you  will  be  the  first  to  acknowl- 
edge. But  as  to  this  interview  at  Brighton,  I  fancy  —  even 
from  the  disjointed  narrative  of  Glencore  —  one  can  make 
a  guess  of  what  it  portended.  The  King  saw  that  my  Lady 
Glencore  —  for  so  we  must  call  her  —  knew  some  very  im- 
portant facts  about  the  Queen,  and  wished  to  obtain  them ; 
and  saw,  too,  that  certain  scandals,  as  the  phrase  goes, 
which  attached  to  her  ladyship,  lay  at  another  door.  He 
fancied,  not  unreasonably,  perhaps,  that  Glencore  would  be 
glad  to  hear  this  exculpation  of  his  wife ;  and  he  calculated 
that  by  the  boon  of  this  intelligence  he  could  gain  over 
Glencore  to  assist  him  in  his  project  for  a  divorce.  Don't 
you  perceive,  Harcourt,  of  what  an  inestimable  value  it 
would  prove,  to  possess  one  single  gentleman,  one  man  or 
one  woman  of  station,  amid  all  this  rabble  that  they  are 
summoning  throughout  the  world  to  bring  shame  upon 
England  ?  " 

"  Then  you  incline  to  believe  Lady  Glencore  blameless?  " 
asked  Harcourt,  anxiously. 

"I  think  well  of  every  one,  my  charming  Colonel.  It  is 
the  only  true  philosophy  in  life.     Be  as  severe  as  you  please 


A  VERY  BROKEN  NARRATIVE.         303 

on  all  who  injure  yourself,  but  always  be  lenient  to  the 
faults  that  only  damage  your  friends.  You  have  no  idea 
how  much  practical  wisdom  the  maxim  contains,  nor  what  a 
fund  of  charity  it  provides." 

''  I  'm  ashamed  to  be  so  -stupid,  but  I  must  come  back  to 
my  old  question.  Is  all  this  story  against  Glencore's  wife 
only  a  calumny?" 

"  And  I  must  fall  back  upon  my  old  remark,  that  all  the 
rogues  in  the  world  are  in  jail;  the  people  you  see  walk- 
ing about  and  at  large  are  unexceptionably  honest,  —  every 
man  of  them.  Ah,  my  dear  deputy-assistant,  adjutant, 
or  commissary,  or  whatever  it  be,  can  you  not  perceive 
the  more  than  folly  of  these  perquisitions  into  character? 
You  don't  require  that  the  ice  should  be  strong  enough  to 
sustain  a  twenty-four  pounder  before  you  venture  to  put 
foot  on  it,  —  enough  that  it  is  quite  equal  to  your  own  weight ; 
and  so  of  the  world  at  large,  —  everybody,  or  nearly  every- 
body, has  virtue  enough  for  all  we  want  with  him.  This 
English  habit  —  for  it  is  essentially  English^ — of  eternally 
investigating  everything,  is  like  the  policy  of  a  man  who 
would  fire  a  round-shot  every  morning  at  his  house,  to  see  if 
it  were  well  and  securely  built." 

"  I  don't,  I  can't  agree  with  you,"  cried  Harcourt. 

"Be  it  so,  my  dear  fellow;  only  don't  give  me  your 
reasons,  and  at  least  I  shall  respect  your  motives." 

' '  What  would  you  do,  then,  in  Glencore's  place  ?  Let  me 
ask  you  that." 

"  You  may  as  well  inquire  how  I  should  behave  if  I  were 
a  quadruped.  Don't  you  perceive  that  I  never  could, 
by  any  possibility,  place  myself  in  such  a  false  position? 
The  man  who,  in  a  case  of  diflSculty,  takes  counsel  from  his 
passions,  is  exactly Jike  one,  who  being  thirsty,  fills  himself 
out  a  bumper  of  aquafortis  and  drinks  it  off." 

"  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  you  'd  give  up  aphorisms,  and 
just  tell  me  how  we  could  serve  this  poor  fellow ;  for  I  feel 
that  there  is  a  gleam  of  light  breaking  through  his  dark 
fortunes." 

"When  a  man  is  in  the  state  Glencore  is  now  in,  the  best 
policy  is  to  let  him  alone.  They  tell  us  that  when  Murat's 
blood  was  up,  the  Emperor  always  left  him  to  his  own  guid- 


304        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

ance,  since  he  either  did  something  excessively  brilliant,  or 
made  such  a  blunder  as  recalled  him  to  subjection  again. 
Let  us  treat  our  friend  in  this  fashion,  and  wait.  Oh,  my 
worthy  Colonel,  if  you  but  knew  what  a  secret  there  is  in 
that  same  waiting  policy.  Many  a  game  is  won  by  letting 
the  adversary  move  out  of  his  turn." 

''If  all  this  subtlety  be  needed  to  guide  a  man  in  the 
plain  road  of  life,  what  is  to  become  of  poor  simple  fellows 
like  myself  ?  '* 

' '  Let  them  never  go  far  from  home,  Harcourt,  and  they  '11 
always  find  their  way  back,"  said  Upton ;  and  his  eyes 
twinkled  with  quiet  drollery.  "  Come,  now,"  said  he,  with 
perfect  good-nature  of  look  and  voice,  "  If  I  won 't  tell  you 
what  I  should  counsel  Glencore  in  this  emergency,  I  '11  do 
the  next  best  thing,  I  '11  tell  you  what  advice  you  'd  give 
him." 

"  Let  us  hear  it,  then,"  said  the  other. 

"  You'd  send  him  abroad  to  search  out  his  wife ;  ask  her 
forgiveness  for  all  the  wrong  he  has  done  her ;  call  out  any 
man  that  whispered  the  shadow  of  a  reproach  against  her ; 
and  go  back  to  such  domesticity  as  it  might  please  Heaven 
to  accord  him." 

"  Certainly,  if  the  woman  has  been  unjustly  dealt  with  —  " 

*' There's  the  rock  you  always  split  on:  you  are  ever- 
lastingly in  search  of  a  character.  Be  satisfied  when  you 
have  eaten  a  hearty  breakfast,  and  don't  ask  for  a  bill  of 
health.  Researches  are  always  dangerous.  My  great  grand- 
father, who  had  a  passion  for  genealogy,  was  cured  of  it  by 
discovering  that  the  first  of  the  family  was  a  staymaker! 
Let  the  lesson  not  be  lost  on  us." 

"  From  all  which  I  am  to  deduce  that  you'd  ask  no  ques- 
tions, —  take  her  home  again,  and  say  nothing." 

''  You  forget,  Harcourt,  we  are  now  discussing  the  line  of 
action  you  would  recommend ;  I  am  only  hinting  at  the  best 
mode  of  carrying  out  your  ideas." 

"  Just  for  the  pleasure  of  showing  me  that  I  did  n't  know 
how  to  walk  in  the  road  I  made  myself,"  said  Harcourt, 
laughing. 

"  What  a  happy  laugh  that  was,  Harcourt !  How  plainly, 
too,  it  said,  '  Thank  Heaven  I  'm  not  like  that  fellow,  with 


A  VERY  BROKEN  NARRATIVE.        305 

all  his  craft !  *  And  you  are  right  too,  my  dear  friend ;  if 
the  devil  were  to  walk  the  world  now,  he  'd  be  bored  beyond 
endurance,  seeing  nothing  but  the  old  vices  played  over 
again  and  again.  And  so  it  is  with  all  of  us  who  have  a 
spice  of  his  nature;  we'd  give  anything  to  see  one  new 
trick  on  the  cards.  Good  night,  and  pleasant  dreams  to 
you !"  And  with  a  sigh  that  had  in  its  cadence  something 
almost  painful,  he  gave  his  two  fingers  to  the  honest  grasp 
of  the  other,  and  withdrew. 

"You're  abetter  fellow  than  you  think  yourself,  or  wish 
any  one  else  to  believe  you,"  muttered  Harcourt,  as  he 
puffed  his  cigar ;  and  he  ruminated  over  this  reflection  till  it 
was  bedtime. 

And  Harcourt  was  right. 


20 


CHAPTER  XL. 


UPTONISM. 


About  noon  on  the  following  day,  Sir  Horace  Upton  and 
the  Colonel  drove  up  to  the  gate  of  the  villa  at  Sorrento, 
and  learned,  to  their  no  small  astonishment,  that  the  Prin- 
cess had  taken  her  departure  that  morning  for  Como.  If 
Upton  heard  these  tidings  with  a  sense  of  pain,  nothing  in 
his  manner  betrayed  the  sentiment;  on  the  contrary,  he 
proceeded  to  do  the  honors  of  the  place  like  its  owner. 
He  showed  Harcourt  the  grounds  and  the  gardens,  pointed 
out  all  the  choice  points  of  view,  directed  his  attention  to 
rare  plants  and  curious  animals;  and  then  led  him  within 
doors  to  admire  the  objects  of  art  and  luxm*y  which 
abounded  there. 

"And  that,  I  conclude,  is  a  portrait  of  the  Princess," 
said  Harcourt,  as  he  stood  before  what  had  been  a  flattering 
likeness  twenty  years  back. 

''Yes,  and  a  wonderful  resemblance,"  said  Upton,  eying 
it  through  his  glass.  '*  Fatter  and  fuller  now,  perhaps ;  but 
it  was  done  after  an  illness." 

"  By  Jove  !  "  muttered  Harcourt,  "  she  must  be  beautiful ; 
I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  a  handsomer  woman !  " 

"  You  are  only  repeating  a  European  verdict.  She  is  the 
most  perfectly  beautiful  woman  of  the  Continent." 

"  So  there  is  no  flattery  in  that  picture?  " 
'  *'  Flattery  !     Why,  my  dear  fellow,  these  people,  the  very 
cleverest  of  them,  can't  imagine  anything  as  lovely  as  that. 
They  can  imitate,  —  they  never  invent  real  beauty." 

''And  clever,  you  say,  too?" 

"  jE's/>W^''enough  for  a  dozen  reviewers  and  fifty  fashion- 
able novelists."  And  as  he  spoke  he  smiled  and  coquetted 
with  the  portrait,  as  though  to  say,  "  Don't  mind  my  saying 
all  this  to  your  face." 


UPTONISM.  307 

"  I  suppose  her  history  is  a  very  interesting  one." 

"Her  history,  my  worthy  Harcourt!  She  has  a  dozen 
histories.  Such  women  have  a  life  of  politics,  a  life  of 
literature,  a  life  of  the  salons^  a  life  of  the  affections,  not 
to  speak  of  the  episodes  of  jealousy,  ambition,  triumph, 
and  sometimes  defeat,  that  make  up  the  brilliant  web  of 
their  existence.  Some  three  or  four  such  people  give  the 
whole  character  and  tone  to  the  age  they  live  in.  They 
mould  its  interests,  sway  its  fashions,  suggest  its  tastes,  and 
they  finally  rule  those  who  fancy  that  they  rule  mankind." 

''  Egad,  then,  it  makes  one  very  sorry  for  poor  man- 
kind," muttered  Harcourt,  with  a  most  honest  sincerity  of 
voice. 

"  Why  should  it  do  so,  my  good  Harcourt?  Is  the  refine- 
ment of  a  woman's  intellect  a  worse  guide  than  the  coarser 
instincts  of  a  man's  nature  ?  Would  you  not  yourself  rather 
trust  your  destinies  to  the  fair  creature  yonder  than  be  left 
to  the  legislative  mercies  of  that  old  gentleman  there, 
Hardenberg,  or  his  fellow  on  the  other  side,  Metternich?" 

"Grim-looking  fellow  the  Prussian;  the  other  is  much 
better,"  said  Harcourt,  rather  evading  the  question. 

"  I  confess  I  prefer  the  Princess,"  said  Upton,  as  he 
bowed  before  the  portrait  in  deepest  courtesy.  "But  here 
comes  breakfast.  I  have  ordered  them  to  give  it  to  us 
here,  that  we  may  enjoy  that  glorious  sea  view  while  we 
eat." 

"I  thought  your  cook  a  man  of  genius,  Upton,  but  this 
fellow  is  his  master,"  said  Harcourt,  as  he  tasted  his 
soup. 

"  They  are  brothers, — twins,  too;  and  they  have  their 
separate  gifts,"  said  Upton,  affectedly.  "  My  fellow,  they 
tell  me,  has  the  finer  intelligence;  but  he  plays  deeply, 
speculates  on  the  Bourse,  and  it  spoils  his  nerve." 

Harcourt  watched  the  delivery  of  this  speech  to  catch  if 
there  were  any  signs  of  raillery  in  the  speaker ;  he  felt  that 
there  was  a  kind  of  mockery  in  the  words ;  but  there  was 
none  in  the  manner,  for  there  was  not  any  in  the  mind  of 
him  who  uttered  them. 

"My  chef"  resumed  Upton,  "  is  a  great  essayist,  who 
must  have  time  for  his  efforts.     This  fellow  is  a  feuilleton 


308        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

writer,  who  is  required  to  be  new  and  sparkling  every  day  of 
the  year,  —  always  varied,  never  profound." 

' '  And  is  this  your  life  of  every  day  ?  "  said  Hareourt, 
as  he  surveyed  the  splendid  room,  and  carried  his  glance 
towards  the  terraced  gardens  that  flanked  the  sea. 

"  Pretty  much  this  kind  of  thing,"  sighed  Upton, 
wearily. 

"  And  no  great  hardship  either,  I  should  call  it." 

"No,  certainly  not,"  said  the  other,  hesitatingly.  ''To 
one  like  myself,  for  instance,  who  has  no  health  for  the 
wear  and  tear  of  public  life,  and  no  heart  for  its  ambitions, 
there  is  a  great  deal  to  like  in  the  quiet  retirement  of  a 
first-class  mission." 

"  Is  there  really,  then,  nothing  to  do?"  asked  Hareourt, 
innocently. 

''Nothing,  if  you  don't  make  it  for  yourself.  You  can 
have  a  harvest  if  you  like  to  sow.  Otherwise,  you  may 
lie  in  fallow  the  year  long.  The  subordinates  take  the 
petty  miseries  of  diplomacy  for  their  share,  —  the  sorrows 
of  insulted  Englishmen,  the  passport  difficulties,  the  cus- 
tom-house troubles,  the  police  insults.  The  Secretary  calls 
at  the  offices  of  the  Government,  carries  messages  and  the 
answers ;  and  /,  when  I  have  health  for  it,  make  my  com- 
pliments to  the  King  in  a  cocked  hat  on  his  birthday,  and 
have  twelve  grease-pots  illuminated  over  my  door  to  honor 
the  same  festival." 

"And  is  that  all?" 

' '  Very  nearly.  In  fact,  when  one  does  anything  more, 
they  generally  do  wrong;  and  by  a  steady  persistence  in 
this  kind  of  thing  for  thirty  years,  you  are  called  '  a  safe 
man,  who  never  compromised  his  Government,'  and  are 
certain  to  be  employed  by  any  party  in  power." 

"I  begin  to  think  I  might  be  an  envoy  myself,"  said 
Hareourt. 

' '  No  doubt  of  it ;  we  have  two  or  three  of  your  calibre 
in  Germany  this  moment,  —  men  liked  and  respected ;  and, 
what  is  of  more  consequence,  well  looked  upon  at  '  the 
Office.' " 

"  I  don't  exactly  follow  you  in  that  last  remark." 

'  ••  I  scarcely  expected  you  should ;  and  as  little  can  I 
make  it  clear  to  you.     Know,  however,  that  in  that  vener- 


UPTONISM.  309 

able  pile  in  Downing  Street  called  the  Foreign  Office,  there 
is  a  strange,  mysterious  sentiment,  —  partly  tradition,  partly 
prejudice,  partly  toadyism,  —  which  bands  together  all  within 
its  walls,  from  the  whiskered  porter  at  the  door  to  the  es- 
senced  IVIinister  in  his  bureau,  into  one  intellectual  con- 
glomerate, that  judges  of  every  man  in  '  the  Line '  —  as  they 
call  diplomacy  —  with  one  accord.  By  that  curious  tribunal, 
which  hears  no  evidence,  nor  ever  utters  a  sentence,  each 
man's  merits  are  weighed ;  and  to  stand  well  in  the  Office 
is  better  than  all  the  favors  of  the  Court,  or  the  force  of 
great  abilities." 

"But  I  cannot  comprehend  how  mere  subordinates,  the 
underlings  of  official  life,  can  possibly  influence  the  fortunes 
of  men  so  much  above  them." 

' '  Picture  to  yourself  the  position  of  an  humble  guest  at 
a  great  man's  table ;  imagine  one  to  whose  pretensions  the 
sentiments  of  the  servants'  hall  are  hostile:  he  is  served 
to  all  appearance  like  the  rest  of  the  company ;  he  gets  his 
soup  and  his  fish  like  those  about  him,  and  his  wine-glass 
is  duly  replenished,  — yet  what  a  series  of  petty  mortifica- 
tions is  he  the  victim  of ;  how  constantly  is  he  made  to  feel 
that  he  is  not  in  public  favor ;  how  certain,  too,  if  he  incur 
an  awkwardness,  to  find  that  his  distresses  are  exposed. 
The  servants'  hall  is  the  Office,  my  dear  Harcourt,  and  its 
persecutions  are  equally  polished." 

' '  Are  you  a  favorite  there  yourself  ?  "  asked  the  other, 
slyly. 

"A  prime  favorite;  they  all  like  me/"  said  he,  throw- 
ing himself  back  in  his  chair,  with  an  air  of  easy  self-satis- 
faction ;  and  Harcourt  stared  at  him,  curious  to  know 
whether  so  astute  a  man  was  the  dupe  of  his  own  self-esteem, 
or  merely  amusing  himself  with  the  simplicity  of  another. 
Ah,  my  good  Colonel,  give  up  the  problem ;  it  is  an  enigma 
far  above  your  powers  to  solve.  That  nature  is  too  com- 
plex for  your  elucidation ;  in  its  intricate  web  no  one 
thread  holds  the  clew,  but  all  is  complicated,  crossed,  and 
entangled, 

"Here  comes  a  cabinet  messenger  again,"  said  Upton, 
as  a  courier's  caleche  drove  up,  and  a  well-dressed  and 
well-looking  fellow  leaped  out. 

"Ah,  Stanhope,  how  are  you?"  said  Sir  Horace,  shak- 


310  THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

ing  his  hand  with  what  from  him  was  warmth.  ''  Do  you 
know  Colonel  Harcourt?  Well,  Frank,  what  news  do  you 
bring  me  ?  " 

"Thebest  of  news." 

''  From  F.  O.,  I  suppose,"  said  Upton,  sighing. 

"Just  so.  Adderley  has  told  the  King  you  are  the  only 
man  capable  to  succeed  him.  The  Press  says  the  same,  and 
the  clubs  are  all  with  you." 

''Not  one  of  them  all,  I'd  venture  to  say,  has  asked 
whether  I  have  the  strength  or  health  for  it,"  said  Sir 
Horace,  with  a  voice  of  pathetic  intonation. 

"Why,  as  we  never  knew  you  want  energy  for  whatever 
fell  to  your  lot  to  do,  we  have  the  same  hope  still,"  said 
Stanhope. 

"So  say  I  too,"  cried  Harcourt.  "Like  many  a  good 
hunter,  he'll  do  his  work  best  when  he  is  properly 
weighted." 

"It  is  quite  refreshing  to  listen  to  you  both  —  creatures 
with  crocodile  digestion  —  talk  to  a  man  who  suffers  night- 
mare if  he  over- eat  a  dry  biscuit  at  supper.  I  tell  you 
frankly,  it  would  be  the  death  of  me  to  take  the  Foreign 
Office.  I  'd  not  live  through  the  season,  —  the  very  dinners 
would  kill  me ;  and  then,  the  House,  the  heat,  the  turmoil, 
the  worry  of  opposition,  and  the  jaunting  back  and  forward 
to  Brighton  or  to  Windsor !  " 

While  he  muttered  these  complaints,  he  continued  to  read 
with  great  rapidity  the  letters  which  Stanhope  had  brought 
him,  and  which,  despite  all  his  practised  coolness,  had  evi- 
dently afforded  him  pleasure  in  the  perusal. 

"Adderley  bore  it,"  continued  he,  "  just  because  he  was 
a  mere  machine,  wound  up  to  play  off  so  many  despatches, 
like  so  many  tunes;  and  then,  he  permitted  a  degree  of 
interference  on  the  King's  part  I  never  could  have  suffered ; 
and  he  liked  to  be  addressed  by  the  King  of  Prussia  as 
'  Dear  Adderley.'  But  what  do  I  care  for  all  these  vanities  ? 
Have  I  not  seen  enough  of  the  thing  they  call  the  great 
world  ?  Is  not  this  retreat  better  and  dearer  to  me  than  all 
the  glare  and  crash  of  London,  or  all  the  pomp  and  splendor 
of  Windsor?" 

"  By  Jove !  I  suspect  you  are  right,  after  all,"  said  Har- 
court, with  an  honest  energy  of  voice. 


UPTONISM.  311 

"  Were  I  younger,  and  stronger  in  health,  perhaps," 
said  Upton,  "  this  might  have  tempted  me.  Perhaps  I  can 
picture  to  myself  what  I  might  have  made  of  it;  for  you 
may  perceive,  George,  these  people  have  done  nothing  :  they 
have  been  pouring  hot  water  on  the  tea-leaves  Pitt  left  them, 
—  no  more." 

"And  you'd  have  a  brewing  of  your  own,  I've  no 
doubt,"  responded  the  other. 

"I'd  at  least  have  foreseen  the  time  when  this  compact, 
this  Holy  Alliance,  should  become  impossible;  when  the 
developed  intelligence  of  Europe  would  seek  something  else 
from  their  rulers  than  a  well-concocted  scheme  of  repression. 
I  'd  have  provided  for  the  hour  when  England  must  either 
break  with  her  own  people  or  her  allies ;  and  I  'd  have  inau- 
gurated a  new  policy,  based  upon  the  enlarged  views  and 
extended  intelligence  of  mankind." 

"  I  'm  not  certain  that  I  quite  apprehend  you,"  muttered 
Harcourt. 

"  No  matter;  but  you  can  surely  understand  that  if  a  set 
of  mere  mediocrities  have  saved  England,  a  batch  of  clever 
men  might  have  done  something  more.  She  came  out  of  the 
last  war  the  acknowledged  head  of  Europe :  does  she  now 
hold  that  place,  and  what  will  she  be  at  the  next  great 
struggle  ?  " 

"  England  is  as  great  as  ever  she  was,"  cried  Harcourt, 
boldly. 

"Greater  in  nothing  is  she  than  in  the  implicit  credulity 
of  her  people  !  "  sighed  Upton.  "  I  only  wish  I  could  have 
the  same  faith  in  my  physicians  that  she  has  in  hers !  By 
the  way,  Stanhope,  what  of  that  new  fellow  they  have  got 
at  St.  Leonard's?  They  tell  me  he  builds  you  up  in  some 
preparation  of  gypsum,  so  that  you  can't  move  or  stir,  and 
that  the  perfect  repose  thus  imparted  to  the  system  is  the 
highest  order  of  restorative." 

' '  They  were  just  about  to  try  him  for  manslaughter 
when  I  left  England,"  said  Stanhope,  laughing. 

"  As  often  the  fate  of  genius  in  these  days  as  in  more 
barbarous  times,"  said  Upton.  "  I  read  his  pamphlet  with 
much  interest.  If  you  were  going  back,  Harcourt,  I  'd  have 
begged  of  you  to  try  him." 

"  And  I  'm  forced  to  say,  I'd  have  refused  you  flatly."     i 


312  '      THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

*' Yet  it  is  precisely  creatures  of  robust  constitution,  like 
you,  that  should  submit  themselves  to  these  trials,  for  the 
sake  of  humanity.  Frail  organizations,  like  mine,  cannot 
brave  these  ordeals.  What  are  they  talking  of  in  town? 
Any  gossip  afloat?" 

*'  The  change  of  ministry  is  the  only  topic.  Glencore's 
affair  has  worn  itself  out." 

*' What  was  that  about  Glencore?"  asked  Upton,  half 
indolently. 

*'A  strange  story;  one  can  scarcely  believe  it.  They 
say  that  Glencore,  hearing  of  the  King's  great  anxiety  to 
be  rid  of  the  Queen,  asked  an  audience  of  his  Majesty,  and 
actually  suggested,  as  the  best  possible  expedient,  that  his 
Majesty  should  deny  the  marriage.  They  add  that  he 
reasoned  the  case  so  cleverly,  and  with  such  consummate 
craft  and  skill,  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  the 
King  could  be  persuaded  that  he  was  deranged.  Some  say 
his  Majesty  was  outraged  beyond  endurance;  others,  that 
he  was  vastly  amused,  and  laughed  immoderately  over  it." 

"  And  the  world,  how  do  they  pronounce  upon  it?  " 

"  There  are  two  great  parties,  —  one  for  Glencore's  sanity, 
the  other  against ;  but,  as  I  said  before,  the  cabinet  changes 
have  absorbed  all  interest  latterly,  and  the  Viscount  and  his 
case  are  forgotten ;  and  when  I  started,  the  great  question 
was,  who  was  to  have  the  Foreign  Office." 

''I  believe  I  could  tell  them  one  who  will  not,"  said 
Upton,  with  a  melancholy  smile.  "Dine  with  me,  both  of 
you,  to-day,  at  seven;  no  company,  you  know.  There  is 
an  opera  in  the  evening,  and  my  box  is  at  your  service,  if 
you  like  to  go ;  and  so,  till  then ;  "  and  with  a  little  ges- 
ture of  the  hand  he  waved  an  adieu,  and  glided  from  the 
room. 

"I'm  sorry  he's  not  up  to  the  work  of  office,"  said  Har- 
court;   "there's  plenty  of  ability  in  him." 

"The  best  man  we  have,"  said  Stanhope;  "so  they  say 
at  the  Office." 

"He's  gone  to  lie  down,  I  take  it;  he  seemed  much 
exhausted.     What  say  you  to  a  walk  back  to  town?" 

"I  ask  nothing  better,"  said  Stanhope;  and  they  started 
for  Naples. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

AN   EVENING   IN   FLORENCE. 

That  happy  valley  of  the  Val  d'Arno,  in  which  fair  Florence 
stands,  possesses,  amidst  all  its  virtues,  none  more  conspicu- 
ous than  the  blessed  forgetfulness  of  the  past,  so  eminently 
the  gift  of  those  who  dwell  there.  Faults  and  follies  of  a 
few  years  back  have  so  faded  by  time  as  to  be  already 
historical;  and  as,  in  certain  climates,  rocks  and  stones 
become  shrined  by  lichens,  and  moss-covered  in  a  year  or 
two,  so  here,  in  equally  brief  space,  bygones  are  shrouded 
and  shadowed  in  a  way  that  nothing  short  of  cruelty  and 
violence  could  once  more  expose  to  view. 

The  palace  where  Lady  Glencore  once  displayed  all  her 
attractions  of  beauty  and  toilette,  and  dispensed  a  hos- 
pitality of  princely  splendor,  had  remained  for  a  course 
of  time  close  barred  and  shut  up.  The  massive  gate  was 
locked,  the  windows  shuttered,  and  curious  tourists  were 
told  that  there  were  objects  of  interest  within,  but  it  was 
impossible  to  obtain  sight  of  them.  The  crowds  who  once 
flocked  there  at  nightfall,  and  whose  equipages  filled  the 
court,  now  drove  on  to  other  haunts,  scarcely  glancing  as 
they  passed  at  the  darkened  casements  of  the  grim  old 
edifice ;  when  at  length  the  rumor  ran  that  ' '  some  one " 
had  arrived  there.  Lights  were  seen  in  the  porter's  lodge, 
the  iron  grille  was  observed  to  open  and  shut,  and  trades- 
people came  and  went  within  the  building;  and,  finally, 
the  assurance  gained  ground  that  its  former  owner  had 
returned. 

*'  Only  think  who  has  come  back  to  us,"  said  one  of  the 
Idlers  of  the  Cascine,  as  he  lounged  on  the  steps  of  a  fash- 
ionable carriage,  —  "La  Nina!"  And  at  once  the  story 
went  far  and  near,  repeated  at  every  corner,  and  discussed 
in  every   circle;    so  that  had  a  stranger  to  the  place  but 


314        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

caught  the  passing  sounds,  he  would  have  heard  that  one 
name  uttered  in  every  group  he  encountered.  La  Nina !  and 
why  not  the  Countess  of  Glencore,  or,  at  least,  the  Countess 
de  la  Torre?  As  when  exiled  royalists  assume  titles  in 
accordance  with  fallen  fortunes,  so,  in  Italy,  injured  fame 
seeks  sympathy  in  the  familiarity  of  the  Christian  name,  and 
' '  Society  "  at  once  accepts  the  designation  as  that  of  those 
who  throw  themselves  upon  the  affectionate  kindness  of  the 
world,  rather  than  insist  upon  its  reverence  and  respect. 

Many  of  her  former  friends  were  still  there;  but  there 
was  also  a  numerous  class,  principally  foreigners,  who  only 
knew  of  her  by  repute.  The  traditions  of  her  beauty,  her 
gracefulness,  the  charms  of  her  demeanor,  and  the  bril- 
liancy of  her  diamonds,  abounded.  Her  admirers  were  of 
all  ages,  from  those  who  worshipped  her  loveliness  to  that' 
not  less  enthusiastic  section  who  swore  by  her  cook ;  and  it 
was  indeed  "  great  tidings"  to  hear  that  she  had  returned. 

Some  statistician  has  asserted  that  no  less  than  a  hundred 
thousand  people  awake  every  day  in  London,  not  one  of 
whom  knows  where  he  will  pass  the  night.  Now,  Florence 
is  but  a  small  city,  and  the  lacquered-boot  class  bear  but  a 
slight  proportion  to  the  shoeless  herd  of  humanity.  Yet 
there  is  a  very  tolerable  sprinkling  of  well-dressed,  well-go t- 
up  individuals,  who  daily  arise  without  the  very  vaguest 
conception  of  who  is  to  house  them,  fire  them,  light  them, 
and  cigar  them  for  the  evening.  They  are  an  interesting 
class,  and  have  this  strong  appeal  to  human  sympathy,  that 
not  one  of  them,  by  any  possible  effort,  could  contribute  to 
his  own  support. 

They  toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin.  They  have  the  very 
fewest  of  social  qualities;  they  possess  no  conversational 
gifts ;  they  are  not  even  moderately  good  reporters  of  the 
passing  events  of  the  day.  And  yet,  strange  to  say,  the 
world  they  live  in  seems  to  have  some  need  of  them.  Are 
they  the  last  relics  of  a  once  gifted  class,  —  worn  out,  effete, 
and  exhausted,  —  degenerated  like  modern  Greeks  from 
those  who  once  shook  the  Parthenon?  Or  are  they  what 
anatomists  call  "  rudimentary  structures,"  —  the  first  abor- 
tive attempts  of  nature  to  fashion  something  profitable  and 
good?    Who  knows? 


AN  EVENING  IN  FLOKENCE.  315 

Amidst  this  class  the  Nina's  arrival  was  announced  as 
the  happiest  of  all  tidings  ;  and  speculation  immediately  set 
to  work  to  imagine  who  would  be  the  favorites  of  the  house ; 
what  would  be  its  habits  and  hours ;  would  she  again  enter 
the  great  world  of  society,  or  would  she,  as  her  quiet, 
unannounced  arrival  portended,  seek  a  less  conspicuous 
position  ?  Nor  was  this  the  mere  talk  of  the  cafes  and  the 
Cascine.  The  salons  were  eagerly  discussing  the  very  same 
theme. 

In  certain  social  conditions  a  degree  of  astuteness  is  ac- 
quired as  to  who  may  and  who  may  not  be  visited,  that,  in 
its  tortuous  intricacy  of  reasons,  would  puzzle  the  craftiest 
head  that  ever  wagged  in  Equity.  Not  that  the  code  is  a 
severe  one ;  it  is  exactly  in  its  lenity  lies  its  difficulty,  —  so 
much  may  be  done,  but  so  little  may  be  fatal !  The  Count- 
ess in  the  present  case  enjoyed  what  in  England  is  reckoned 
a  great  privilege,  —  she  was  tried  by  her  peers  —  or  "  some- 
thing more."  They  were,  however,  all  nice  discriminators 
as  to  the  class  of  case  before  them,  and  they  knew  well  what 
danger  there  was  in  admitting  to  their  "  guild"  any  with  a 
little  more  disgrace  than  their  neighbors.  It  was  curious 
enough  that  she,  in  whose  behalf  all  this  solicitude  was 
excited,  should  have  been  less  than  indifferent  as  to  the 
result;  and  when,  on  the  third  day  of  the  trial,  a  verdict 
was  delivered  in  her  favor,  and  a  shower  of  visiting-cards  at 
the  porter's  lodge  declared  that  the  act  of  her  recognition 
had  passed,  her  orders  were  that  the  cards  should  be  sent 
back  to  their  owners,  as  the  Countess  had  not  the  honor 
of  their  acquaintance. 

"  Les  grands  coups  se  font  respecter  toujours,"  was  the 
maxim  of  a  great  tactician  in  war  and  politics ;  and  the 
adage  is  no  less  true  in  questions  of  social  life.  We  are  so 
apt  to  compute  the  strength  of  resources  by  the  amount 
of  pretension  that  we  often  yield  the  victory  to  the  mere 
declaration  of  force.  We  are  not,  however,  about  to  dwell 
on  this  theme,  —  our  business  being  less  with  those  who 
discussed  her,  than  with  the  Countess  of  Grlencore  herself. 

In  a  large  salon,  hung  with  costly  tapestries,  and  fur- 
nished in  the  most  expensive  style,  sat  two  ladies  at  oppo- 
site sides  of  the  fire.     They  were  both  richly  dressed,  and 

Hi.      ^'^   THE 

CF 
Ca, 


316        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

one  of  them  (it  was  Lady  Glencore) ,  as  she  held  a  screen 
before  her  face,  displayed  a  pumber  of  valuable  rings  on 
her  fingers,  and  a  massive  bracelet  of  enamel  with  a  lar^e 
emerald  pendant.  The  other,  not  less  magnificently  attirei, 
wore  an  imperial  portrait  suspended  by  a  chain  around  her 
neck,  and  a  small  knot  of  white  and  green  ribbon  on  her 
shoulder,  to  denote  her  quality  of  a  lady  in  waiting  at  Court. 
There  was  something  almost  queenly  in  the  haughty  dignity 
of  her  manner,  and  an  air  of  command  in  the  tone  with 
which  she  addressed  her  companion.  It  was  our  acquaint- 
ance the  Princess  Sabloukoff,  just  escaped  from  a  dinner  and 
reception  at  the  Pitti  Palace,  and  carrying  with  her  some  of 
the  proud  traditions  of  the  society  she  had  quitted. 

"  What  hour  did  you  tell  them  they  might  come,  Nina?  " 
asked  she. 

"Not  before  midnight,  my  dear  Princess;  I  wanted  to 
have  a  talk  with  you  first.  It  is  long  since  we  have  met,  and 
I  have  so  much  to  tell  you." 

"  Cara  mia"  said  the  other,  carelessly,  "  I  know  every- 
thing already.  There  is  nothing  you  have  done,  nothing 
that  has  happened  to  you,  that  I  am  not  aware  of.  I  might 
go  further,  and  say  that  I  have  looked  with  secret  pleasure 
at  the  course  of  events  which  to  your  short-sightedness 
seemed  disastrous." 

"  I  can  scarce  conceive  that  possible,"  said  the  Countess, 
sighing. 

''  Naturally  enough,  perhaps,  because  you  never  knew  the 
greatest  of  all  blessings  in  this  life,  which  is  —  liberty. 
Separation  from  your  husband,  my  dear  Nina,  did  not  eman- 
cipate you  from  the  tiresome  requirements  of  the  world. 
You  got  rid  of  Mm^  to  be  sure,  but  not  of  those  who  regarded 
you  as  his  wife.  It  required  the  act  of  courage  by  which 
you  cut  with  these  people  forever,  to  assert  the  freedom  I 
speak  of." 

"I  almost  shudder  at  the  contest  I  have  provoked,  and 
had  you  not  insisted  on  it — " 

* '  You  had  gone  back  again  to  the  old  slavery,  to  be  pitied 
and  compassionated,  and  condoled  with,  instead  of  being 
feared  and  envied,"  said  the  other ;  and  as  she  spoke,  her 
flashing  eyes  and  quivering  brows  gave  an  expression  almost 


AN  EVENING  IN  FLORENCE.  31T 

tiger-like  to  her  features.  "What  was  there  about  your 
house  and  its  habits  distinctive  before  ?  What  gave  yoU  any 
pre-eminence  above  those  that  surround  you?  You  were 
better  looking,  yourself ;  better  dressed ;  your  saloyis  better 
lighted  ;  your  dinners  more  choice,  —  there  was  the  end  of  it. 
Your  company  was  their  company,  —  your  associates  were 
theirs.  The  homage  you  received  to-day  had  been  yesterday 
the  incense  of  another.  There  was  not  a  bouquet  nor  a  flat- 
tery offered  to  you  that  had  not  its  facsimile .,  doing  service  in 
some  other  quarter.  You  were  '  one  of  them,*  Nina,  obliged 
to  follow  their  laws  and  subscribe  to  their  ideas ;  and  while 
they  traded  on  the  wealth  of  your  attractions,  you  derived 
nothing  from  the  partnership  but  the  same  share  as  those 
about  you." 

"  And  how  will  it  be  now?  "  asked  the  Countess,  half  in 
fear,  half  in  hope. 

''  How  will  it  be  now?  I  '11  tell  you.  This  house  will  be 
the  resort  of  every  distinguished  man,  not  of  Italy,  but  of 
the  world  at  large.  Here  will  come  the  highest  of  every 
nation,  as  to  a  circle  where  they  can  say,  and  hear,  and  sug- 
gest a  thousand  things  in  the  freedom  of  unauthorized  inter- 
course. You  will  not  drain  Florence  alone,  but  all  the  great 
cities  of  Europe,  of  its  best  talkers  and  deepest  thinkers. 
The  statesman  and  the  author,  and  the  sculptor  and  the 
musician,  will  hasten  to  a  neutral  territory,  where  for  the 
time  a  kind  of  equality  will  prevail.  The  weary  minister, 
escaping  from  a  Court  festival,  will  come  here  to  unbend ; 
the  witty  converser  will  store  himself  with  his  best  resources 
for  your  salons.  There  will  be  all  the  freedom  of  a  club  to 
these  men,  with  the  added  charm  of  that  fascination  your 
presence  will  confer ;  and  thus,  through  all  their  intercourse, 
will  be  felt  that  ^  parfum  defemme,*  as  Balzac  calls  it,  which 
both  elevates  and  entrances." 

' '  But  will  not  society  revenge  itself  on  all  this  ?  " 

"It  will  invent  a  hundred  calumnious  reports  and  shock- 
ing stories  ;  but  these,  like  the  criticisms  on  an  immoral  play, 
will  only  serve  to  fill  the  house.  Men  —  even  the  quiet  ones 
—  will  be  eager  to  see  what  it  is  that  constitutes  the  charm 
of  these  gatherings  ;  and  one  charm  there  is  that  never  misses 
its  success.     Have  you  ever  experienced,  in  visiting  some 


318        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

great  gallery,  or,  still  more,  some  choice  collection  of  works 
of  art,  a  strange,  mysterious  sense  of  awe  for  objects  which 
you  rather  knew  to  be  great  by  the  testimony  of  others,  than 
felt  able  personally  to  appreciate  ?  You  were  conscious  that 
the  picture  was  painted  by  Raphael,  or  the  cup  carved  by 
Cellini,  and,  independently  of  all  the  pleasure  it  yielded  you, 
arose  a  sense  of  homage  to  its  actual  worth.  The  same  is 
the  case  in  society  with  illustrious  men.  They  may  seem 
slower  of  apprehension,  less  ready  at  reply,  less  apt  to  under- 
stand ;  but  there  they  are.  Originals,  not  Copies  of  greatness. 
They  represent  value." 

Have  we  said  enough  to  show  our  reader  the  kind  of 
persuasion  by  which  Madame  de  Sabloukoff  led  her  friend 
into  this  new  path?  The  flattery  of  the  argument  was, 
after  all,  its  success ;  and  the  Countess  was  fascinated  by 
fancying  herself  something  more  than  the  handsomest  and 
the  best-dressed  woman  in  Florence.  They  who  constitute 
aj  free  port  of  their  house  will  have  certainly  abundance  of 
trade,  and  also  invite  no  small  amount  of  enterprise. 

A  little  after  midnight  the  salons  began  to  fill,  and  from 
the  Opera  and  the  other  theatres  flocked  in  all  that  was 
pleasant,  fashionable,  and  idle  of  Florence.  The  old  beau, 
painted,  padded,  and  essenced,  came  with  the  younger 
and  not  less  elaborately  dressed  *' fashionable,"  great  in 
watch-chains  and  splendid  in  waistcoat  buttons  ;  long-haired 
artists  and  moustached  hussars  mingled  with  close-shaven 
actors  and  pale-faced  authors ;  men  of  the  world,  of  politics, 
of  finance,  of  letters,  of  the  turf,  —  all  were  there.  There  was 
the  gossip  of  the  Bourse  and  the  cabinet,  the  green-room 
and  the  stable.  The  scandal  of  society,  the  events  of  club 
life,  the  world's  doings  in  dinners,  divorces,  and  duels,  were 
all  revealed  and  discussed,  amidst  the  most  profuse  grati- 
tude to  the  Countess  for  coming  back  again  to  that  society 
which  scarcely  survived  her  desertion. 

They  were  not,  it  is  but  fair  to  say,  all  that  the  Princess 
Sabloukoff  had  depicted  them;  but  there  was  still  a  very 
fair  sprinkling  of  witty,  pleasant  talkers.  The  ease  of 
admission  permitted  any  former  intimate  to  present  his 
friend,  and  thus  at  once,  on  the  very  first  night  of  receiving, 
the  Countess  saw  her  salons  crowded.     They  smoked,  and 


AN  EVEI<toG  IN  FLORENCE.  319 

sang,  and  laughed,  and  played  ecarte,  and  told  good  stories. 
They  drew  caricatures,  imitated  well-known  actors,  and 
even  preachers,  talking  away  with  a  volubility  that  left  few 
listeners ;  and  then  there  was  a  supper  laid  out  on  a  table 
too  small  to  accommodate  even  by  standing,  so  that  each 
carried  away  his  plate,  and  bivouacked  with  others  of  his 
friends,  here  and  there,  through  the  rooms. 

All  was  contrived  to  impart  a  sense  of  independence  and 
freedom;  all,  to  convey  an  impression  of  'license"  special 
to  the  place,  that  made  the  most  rigid  unbbnd,  and  relaxed 
the  gravity  of  many  who  seldom  laughed. 

As  in  certain  chemical  compounds  a  mere  drop  of  some 
one  powerful  ingredient  will  change  the  whole  property  of 
the  mass,  eliciting  new  elements,  correcting  this,  develop- 
ing that,  and,  even  to  the  eye,  announcing  by  altered  color 
the  wondrous  change  accomplished,  so  here  the  element  of 
womanhood,  infinitely  small  in  proportion  as  it  was,  imparted 
a  tone  and  a  refinement  to  this  orgie  which,  without  it,  had 
degenerated  into  coarseness.  The  Countess's  beautiful  niece, 
Ida  Delia  Torre,  was  also  there,  singing  at  times  with  all 
an  artist's  excellence  the  triumphs  of  operatic  music;  at 
others,  warbling  over  those  "  canzonettes  "  which  to  Italian 
ears  embody  all  that  they  know  of  love  of  country.  How 
could  such  a  reception  be  other  than  successful;  or  how 
could  the  guests,  as  they  poured  forth  into  the  silent  street 
at  daybreak,  do  aught  but  exult  that  such  a  house  was 
added  to  the  haunts  of  Florence,  —  so  lovely  a  group  had 
returned  to  adorn  their  fair  city? 

In  a  burst  of  this  enthusiastic  gratitude  they  sang  a 
serenade  before  they  separated ;  and  then,  as  the  closed 
curtains  showed  them  that  the  inmates  had  left  the  windows, 
they  uttered  the  last  "  felice  Notte,"  and  departed. 

"And  so  Wahnsdorf  never  made  his  appearance?"  said 
the  Princess,  as  she  was  once  more  alone  with  the  Countess. 

"I  scarcely  expected  him.  He  knows  the  ill-feeling 
towards  his  countrymen  amongst  Italians,  and  he  rarely 
enters  society  where  he  may  meet  them." 

"  It  is  strange  that  he  should  marry  one !  "  said  she,  half 
musingly. 

"He  fell  in  love, — there's  the  whole  secret  of  it,"  said 


320        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

the  Countess.  ''He  fell  in  love,  and  his  passion  encoun- 
tered certain  difficulties.  His  rank  was  one  of  them,  Ida's 
indifference  another." 

' '  And  how  have  they  been  got  over  ?  " 

"  Evaded  rather  than  surmounted.  He  has  only  his  own 
consent  after  all." 

''  And  Ida,  does  she  care  for  him?  " 

"  I  suspect  not ;  but  she  will  marry  him.  Pique  will  often 
do  what  affection  would  fail  in.  The  secret  history  of  the 
affair  is  this :  There  was  a  youth  at  Massa,  who,  while  he 
lived  there,  made  our  acquaintance  and  became  even  inti- 
mate at  the  Villa :  he  was  a  sculptor  of  some  talent,  and,  as 
many  thought,  of  considerable  promise.  I  engaged  him  to 
give  Ida  lessons  in  modelling,  and,  in  this  way,  they  were 
constantly  together.  Whether  Ida  liked  him  or  not  I  cannot 
say ;  but  it  is  beyond  a  doubt  that  he  loved  her.  In  fact, 
everything  he  produced  in  his  art  only  showed  what  his 
mind  was  full  of,  —  her  image  was  everywhere.  This 
aroused  Wahnsdorfs  jealousy,  and  he  urged  me  strongly  to 
dismiss  Greppi,  and  shut  my  doors  to  him.  At  first  I  con- 
sented, for  I  had  a  strange  sense,  not  exactly  of  dislike,  but 
misgiving,  of  the  youth.  I  had  a  feeling  towards  him  that 
if  I  attempted  to  convey  to  you,  it  would  seem  as  though  in 
all  this  affair  I  had  suffered  myself  to  be  blinded  by  passion, 
not  guided  by  reason.  There  were  times  that  I  felt  a 
deep  interest  in  the  youth :  his  genius,  his  ardor,  his  very 
poverty  engaged  my  sympathy ;  and  then,  stronger  than  all 
these,  was  a  strange,  mysterious  sense  of  terror  at  sight  of 
him,  for  he  was  the  very  image  of  one  who  has  worked  all 
the  evil  of  my  life." 

"Was  not  this  a  mere  fancy?"  said  the  Princess,  com- 
passionately, for  she  saw  the  shuddering  emotion  these  words 
had  cost  her. 

"  It  was  not  alone  his  look,"  continued  the  Countess, 
speaking  now  with  impetuous  eagerness,  "  it  was  not  merely 
his  features,  but  their  every  play. and  movement ;  his  gestures 
when  excited ;  the  very  voice  was  his.  I  saw  him  once 
excited  to  violent  passion ;  it  was  some  taunt  that  Wahns- 
dorf  uttered  about  men  of  unknown  or  ignoble  origin ;  and 
then  He  —  he  himself  seemed  to  stand  before  me  as  I  have 


AN  EVENING  IN  FLORENCE.  321 

SO  often  seen  him,  in  his  terrible  outbursts  of  rage.  The 
sight  brought  back  to  me  the  dreadful  recollection  of  those 
scenes,  —  scenes,"  said  she,  looking  wildly  around  her, 
"  that  if  these  old  walls  could  speak,  might  freeze  your 
heart  where  you  are  sitting. 

"You  have  heard,  but  you  cannot  know,  the  miserable 
life  we  led  together;  the  frantic  jealousy  that  maddened 
every  hour  of  his  existence ;  how,  in  all  the  harmless  free- 
dom of  our  Italian  life,  he  saw  causes  of  suspicion  and 
distrust ;  how,  by  his  rudeness  to  this  one,  his  coldness  to 
that,  he  estranged  me  from  all  who  have  been  my  dearest 
intimates  and  friends,  dictating  to  me  the  while  the  custom 
of  a  land  and  a  people  I  had  never  seen  nor  wished  to  see ; 
till  at  last  I  was  left  a  mockery  to  some,  an  object  of  pity 
to  others,  amidst  a  society  where  once  I  reigned  supreme,  — 
and  all  for  a  man  that  I  had  ceased  to  love !  It  was  from 
this  same  life  of  misery,  unrewarded  by  the  affection  by 
which  jealousy  sometimes  compensates  for  its  tyranny,  that 
I  escaped,  to  attach  myself  to  the  fortunes  of  that  unhappy 
Princess  whose  lot  bore  some  resemblance  to  my  own. 

"  I  know  well  that  he  ascribed  my  desertion  to  another 
cause,  and  —  shall  I  own  it  to  you?  —  I  had  a  savage  plea- 
sure in  leaving  him  to  the  delusion.  It  was  the  only  ven- 
geance within  my  reach,  and  I  grasped  it  with  eagerness. 
Nothing  was  easier  for  me  than  to  disprove  it,  —  a  mere 
word  would  have  shown  the  falsehood  of  the  charge ;  but  I 
would  not  utter  it.  I  knew  his  nature  well,  and  that  the 
insult  to  his  name  and  the  stain  to  his  honor  would  be  the 
heaviest  of  all  injuries  to  him ;  and  they  were  so.  He  drove 
me  from  my  home,  — I  banished  him  from  the  world.  It  is 
true,  I  never  reckoned  on  the  cruel  blow  he  had  yet  in  store 
for  me,  and  when  it  fell  I  was  crushed  and  stunned.  There 
was  now  a  declared  war  between  us,  —  each  to  do  their 
worst  to  the  other.  It  was  less  succumbing  before  him,  than 
to  meditate  and  determine  on  the  future,  that  I  fled  from 
Florence.  It  was  not  here  and  in  such  a  society  I  should 
have  to  blush  for  any  imputation.  But  I  had  always  held 
my  place  proudly,  perhaps  too  proudly,  here,  and  I  did  not 
care  to  enter  upon  that  campaign  of  defence  —  that  stooping 
to  cultivate  alliances,  that  humble  game  of  conciliation  — 
that  must  ensue. 

21 


322        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

*'Iwent  away  into  banishment.  I  went  to  Corsica,  and 
thence  to  Massa.  I  was  meditating  a  journey  to  the  East.  I 
was  even  speculating  on  establishing  myself  there  for  the  rest 
of  my  life,  when  your  letters  changed  my  plans.  You  once 
more  kindled  in  my  heart  a  love  of  life  by  instilling  a  love 
of  vengeance.  You  suggested  to  me  the  idea  of  coming 
back  here  boldly,  and  confronting  the  world  proudly." 

''Do  not  mistake  me,  Nina,"  said  the  Princess,  "the 
'  Vendetta '  was  the  last  thing  in  my  thoughts.  I  was  too 
deeply  concerned  for  you  to  be  turned  away  from  my  object 
by  any  distracting  influence.  It  was  that  you  should  give  a 
bold  denial  —  the  boldest — to  your  husband's  calumny,  I 
counselled  your  return.  My  advice  was :  Disregard,  and, 
by  disregarding,  deny  the  foul  slander  he  has  invented.  Go 
back  to  the  world  in  the  rank  that  is  yours  and  that  you 
never  forfeited,  and  then  challenge  him  to  oppose  your  claim 
to  it." 

''And  do  you  think  that  for  such  a  consideration  as  this 

—  the  honor  to  bear  the  name  of  a  man  I  loathe  —  that  I  *d 
face  that  world  I  know  so  well?  No,  no ;  believe  me,  I  had 
very  different  reasons.  I  was  resolved  that  my  future  life, 
my  name,  his  name,  should  gain  a  European  notoriety.  I  am 
well  aware  that  when  a  woman  is  made  a  public  talk,  when 
once  her  name  comes  sufficiently  often  before  the  world,  let  it 
be  for  what  you  will,  —  her  beauty,  her  will,  her  extravagance, 
her  dress,  —  from  that  hour  her  fame  is  perilled,  and  the 
society  she  has  overtopped  take  their  vengeance  in  slandering 
her  character.  To  be  before  the  world  as  a  woman  is  to  be 
arraigned.  If  ever  there  was  a  man  who  dreaded  such  a 
destiny  for  his  wife,  it  was  he.  The  impertinences  of  the 
Press  had  greater  terrors  for  his  heart  than  aught  else  in  life, 
and  I  resolved  that  he  should  taste  them." 

"  How  have  you  mistaken,  how  have  you  misunderstood 
me,  Nina !  "  said  the  Princess,  sorrowfully. 

"Not  so,"  cried  she,  eagerly.  "You  only  saw  one  ad- 
vantage in  the  plan  you  counselled.  /  perceived  that  it 
contained  a  double  benefit." 

"  But  remember,  dearest  Nina,  revenge  is  the  most  costly 
of  all  pleasures,  if  one  pays  for  it  with  all  that  they  possess 

—  their  tranquillity.     I  myself  might  have  indulged  such 


AN  EVENING  IN  FLORENCE.  323 

thougkts  as  yours ;  there  were  many  points  alike  in  our  for- 
tunes :  but  to  have  followed  such  a  course  would  be  like  the 
wisdom  of  one  who  inoculates  himself  with  a  deadly  malady 
that  he  may  impart  the  poison  to  another." 

"Must  I  again  tell  you  that  in  all  I  have  done  I  cared 
less  how  it  might  serve  me  than  how  it  might  wound  him  ?  I 
know  you  cannot  understand  this  sentiment ;  I  do  not  ask  of 
you  to  sympathize  with  it.  Your  talents  enabled  you  to 
shape  out  a  high  and  ambitious  career  for  yourself.  You 
loved  the  great  intrigues  of  state,  and  were  well  fitted  to 
conduct  or  control  them.  None  such  gifts  were  mine.  I 
was  and  I  am  still  a  mere  creature  of  society.  I  never 
soared,  even  in  fancy,  beyond  the  triumphs  which  the  world 
of  fashion  decrees.  A  cruel  destiny  excluded  me  from  the 
pleasures  of  a  life  that  would  have  amply  satisfied  me,  and 
there  is  nothing  left  but  to  avenge  myself  on  the  cause." 

"  My  dearest  Nina,  with  all  your  self -stimulation  you 
cannot  make  yourself  the  vindictive  creature  you  would 
appear,"  said   the  Princess,  smiling. 

"How  little  do  you  know  my  Italian  blood!  "  said  the 
other,  passionately.  ' '  That  boy  —  he  was  not  much  more 
than  boy  —  that  Greppi  was,  as  I  told  you,  the  very  image 
of  Glencore.  The  same  dark  skin,  the  same  heavy  brow, 
the  same  cold,  stern  look,  which  even  a  smile  did  not 
enliven ;  even  to  the  impassive  air  with  which  he  listened  to 
a  provocation,  —  all  were  alike.  Well,  the  resemblance  has 
cost  him  dearly.  I  consented  at  last  to  Wahnsdorf's  con- 
tinual entreaty  to  exclude  him  from  the  Villa,  and  charged 
the  Count  with  the  commission.  I  am  not  sure  that  he 
expended  an  excess  of  delicacy  on  the  task ;  I  half  fear  me 
that  he  did  the  act  more  rudely  than  was  needed.  At  all 
events,  a  quarrel  was  the  result,  and  a  challenge  to  a  duel. 
I  only  knew  of  this  when  all  was  over ;  believe  me,  I  should 
never  have  permitted  it.  However,  the  result  was  as  safe  in 
the  hands  of  Fate.  The  youth  fled  from  Massa ;  and  though 
Wahnsdorf  followed  him,  they  never  met." 

"There  was  no  duel,  you  say?"  cried  the  Princess, 
eagerly. 

"How  could  there  be?  This  Greppi  never  went  to  the 
rendezvous.     He  quitted  Massa  during  the  night,  and  has 


324         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

never  since  been  heard  of.  In  this,  I  own  to  you,  he  was 
not  like  /w'm."  And,  as  she  said  the  words,  the  tears  swam 
in  her  eyes,  and  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 
"  May  I  ask  you  how  you  learned  all  this?  " 
' '  From  Wahnsdorf ;  on  his  return,  in  a  week  or  two,  he 
told  me  all.  Ida,  at  first,  would  not  believe  it;  but  how 
could  she  discredit  what  was  plain  and  palpable?  Greppi 
was  gone.  All  the  inquiries  of  the  police  were  in  vain  as  to 
his  route ;  none  could  guess  how  he  had  escaped." 

' '  And  this  account  was  given  you  —  you  yourself  —  by 
Wahnsdorf?"  repeated  the  Princess. 

"  Yes,  to  myself.     Why  should  he  have  concealed  it?  " 
"  And  now  he  is  to  marry  Ida?"  said  the  Princess,  half 
musingly,  to  herself.  , 

"  We  hope,  with  your  aid,  that  it  may  be  so.  The  family 
difficulties  are  great ;  Wahnsdorf 's  rank  is  not  ours  ;  but  he 
persists  in  saying  that  to  your  management  nothing  is 
impossible." 

"  His  opinion  is  too  flattering,"  said  the  Princess,  with  a 
cold  gravity  of  manner. 

"  But  you  surely  will  not  refuse  us  your  assistance?  " 
"  You  may  count  upon  me  even  for  more  than  you  ask," 
said  the  Princess,  rising.     "  How  late  it  is  !  day  is  breaking 
already !  "     And  so,  with  a  tender  embrace,  they  parted. 


CHAPTER   XLII. 

MADAME    DE    SABLOUKOFF    IN    THE    MORNING. 

Madame  de  Sabloukoff  inhabited  "the  grand  apartment" 
of  the  Hotel  d'ltalie,  which  is  the  handsomest  quarter  of 
the  great  hotel  of  Florence.  The  same  suite  which  had  once 
the  distinguished  honor  of  receiving  a  Czar  and  a  King  of 
Prussia,  and  Heaven  knows  how  many  lesser  potentates ! 
was  now  devoted  to  one  who,  though  not  of  the  small  num- 
ber of  the  elect-in-purple,  was  yet,  in  her  way,  what  poli- 
ticians calls  a  ''puissance." 

As  in  the  drama  a  vast  number  of  agencies  are  required 
for  the  due  performance  of  a  piece,  so,  on  the  greater  stage 
of  life,  many  of  the  chief  motive  powers  rarely  are  known 
to  the  public  eye.  The  Princess  was  of  this  number.  She 
was  behind  the  scenes,  in  more  than  one  sense,  and  had 
her  share  in  the  great  events  of  her  time. 

While  her  beauty  lasted,  she  had  traded  on  the  great 
capital  of  attractions  which  were  unsurpassed  in  Europe. 
As  the  perishable  flower  faded,  she,  with  prudential  fore- 
sight, laid  up  a  treasure  in  secret  knowledge  of  people  and 
their  acts,  which  made  her  dreaded  and  feared  where  she  was 
once  admired  and  flattered.  Perhaps  —  it  is  by  no  means 
improbable  —  she  preferred  this  latter  tribute  to  the  former. 

Although  the  strong  sunlight  was  tempered  by  the  closed 
jalousies  and  the  drawn  muslin  curtains,  she  sat  with  her 
back  to  the  window,  so  that  her  features  were  but  dimly 
visible  in  the  darkened  atmosphere  of  the  room.  There 
was  something  of  coquetry  in  this ;  but  there  was  more,  — 
there  was  a  dash  of  semi-secrecy  in  the  air  of  gloom  and 
stillness  around,  which  gave  to  each  visitor  who  presented 
himself,  —  and  she  received  but  one  at  a  time,  —  an  impres- 
sion  of   being  admitted  to   an  audience  of  confidence  and 


326         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

trust.  The  mute-like  servant  who  waited  in  the  corridor 
without,  and  who  drew  back  a  massive  curtain  on  your 
entrance,  also  aided  the  delusion,  imparting  to  the  inter- 
view a  character  of  mysterious  solemnity. 

Through  that  solemn  portal  there  had  passed,  in  and  out, 
during  the  morning,  various  dignitaries  of  the  land,  minis- 
ters and  envoys,  and  grand  *' charges"  of  the  Court.  The 
embroidered  key  of  the  Chamberlain  and  the  purple  stock- 
ings of  a  Nuncio  had  come  and  gone ;  and  now  there  was  a 
brief  pause,  for  the  groom  in  waiting  had  informed  the  crowd 
in  the  antechamber  that  the  Princess  could  receive  no  more. 
Then  there  was  a  hurried  scrawling  of  great  names  in  a 
large  book,  a  shower  of  visiting-cards,  and  all  was  over; 
the  fine  equipages  of  fine  people  dashed  off,  and  the  court- 
yard of  the  hotel  was  empty. 

The  large  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  struck  three,  and 
Madame  de  Sabloukoff  compared  the  time  with  her  watch, 
and  by  a  movement  of  impatience  showed  a  feeling  of  dis- 
pleasure. She  was  not  accustomed  to  have  her  appoint- 
ments lightly  treated,  and  he  for  whom  she  had  fixed  an 
hour  was  now  thkty  minutes  behind  his  time.  She  had  been 
known  to  resent  such  unpunctuality,  and  she  looked  as 
though  she  might  do  so  again.  "  I  remember  the  day  when 
his  grand-uncle  descended  from  his  carriage  to  speak  to 
me,"  muttered  she;  "and  that  same  grand-uncle  was  an 
emperor." 

Perhaps  the  chance  reflection  of  her  image  in  the  large 
glass  before  her  somewhat  embittered  the  recollection,  for 
her  features  flushed,  and  as  suddenly  grew  pale  again.  It 
may  have  been  that  her  mind  went  rapidly  back  to  a  period 
when  her  fascination  was  a  despotism  that  even  the  highest 
and  the  haughtiest  obeyed.  "  Too  true,"  said  she,  speaking 
to  herself,  "time  has  dealt  heavily  with  us  all.  But  they 
are  no  more  what  they  once  were  than  am  I.  Their  old 
compact  of  mutual  assistance  is  crumbling  away  under  the 
pressure  of  new  rivalries  and  new  pretensions.  Kings  and 
Kaisers  will  soon  be  like  bygone  beauties.  I  wonder  will 
they  bear  their  altered  fortune  as  heroically?"  It  is  but 
just  to  say  that  her  tremulous  accents  and  quivering  lip  bore 
little  evidence  of  the  heroism  she  spoke  of. 


MADAME  DE  SABLOUKOFE  IN  THE  MORNING.     327 

She  rang  the  bell  violently,  and  as  the  servant  entered  she 
said,  but  in  a  voice  of  perfect  unconcern,  — 

"  When  the  Count  von  Wahnsdorf  calls,  you  will  tell  him 
that  I  am  engaged,  but  will  receive  him  to-morrow  —  " 

"  And  why  not  to-day,  charming  Princess?  "  said  a  young 
man,  entering  hastily,  and  whose  graceful  but  somewhat 
haughty  air  set  off  to  every  advantage  his  splendid  Hunga- 
rian costume.  *' Why  not  now?"  said  he,  stooping  to  kiss 
her  hand  with  respectful  gallantry.  She  motioned  to  the 
servant  to  withdraw,  and  they  were  alone. 

' '  You  are  not  over  exact  in  keeping  an  appointment, 
monsieur,"  said  she,  stiffly.  "It  is  somewhat  cruel  to 
remind  me  that  my  claims  in  this  respect  have  grown 
antiquated." 

''  I  fancied  myself  the  soul  of  punctuality,  my  dear  Prin- 
cess," said  he,  adjusting  the  embroidered  pelisse  he  wore 
over  his  shoulder.     '*  You  mentioned  four  as  the  hour  —  " 

"  I  said  three  o'clock,"  replied  she,  coldly. 

"Three,  or  four,  or  even  five, — what  does  it  signify?" 
said  he,  carelessly.  "  We  have  not  either  of  us,  I  suspect, 
much  occupation  to  engage  us ;  and  if  I  have  interfered  with 
your  other  plans  —  if  you  have  plans  —  A  thousand  par- 
dons !  "  cried  he,  suddenly,  as  the  deep  color  of  her  face 
and  her  flashing  eye  warned  him  that  he  had  gone  too  far ; 
"but  the  fact  is,  I  was  detained  at  the  riding-school. 
They  have  sent  me  some  young  horses  from  the  Banat,  and 
I  went  over  to  look  at  them." 

' '  The  Count  de  Wahnsdorf  knows  that  he  need  make  no 
apologies  to  Madame  de  Sabloukoff,"  said  she,  calmly  ;  "  but 
it  were  just  as  graceful,  perhaps,  to  affect  them.  My  dear 
Count,"  continued  she,  but  in  a  tone  perfectly  free  from  all 
touch  of  irritation,  "  I  have  asked  to  see  and  speak  with 
you  on  matters  purely  your  own  —  " 

"  You  want  to  dissuade  me  from  this  marriage,"  said  he, 
interrupting;  "  but  I  fancy  that  I  have  already  listened  to 
everything  that  can  be  urged  on  that  affair.  If  you  have 
any  argument  other  than  the  old  one  about  misalliance  and 
the  rest  of  it,  I  '11  hear  it  patiently ;  though  I  tell  you  before- 
hand that  I  should  like  to  learn  that  a  connection  with  an 
imperial  house  had  some  advantage  besides  that  of  a  con- 
tinual barrier  to  one's  wishes." 


328        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"I  understand,"  said  she,  quietly,  "  that  you  named  the 
terms  on  which  you  would  abandon  this  project,  —  is  it 
not  so?" 

''Who  told  you  that?"  cried  he,  angrily.  "Is  this 
another  specimen  of  the  delicacy  with  which  ministers  treat 
a  person  of  my  station  ?  " 

"  To  discuss  that  point.  Count,  would  lead  us  wide  of 
our  mark.  Am  I  to  conclude  that  my  informant  was 
correct?" 

"  How  can  I  tell  what  may  have  been  reported  to  you?" 
said  he,  almost  rudely. 

"You  shall  hear  and  judge  for  yourself,"  was  the  calm 
answer.  "  Count  Kollorath  informed  me  that  you  offered 
to  abandon  this  marriage  on  condition  that  you  were 
appointed  to  the  command  of  the  Pahlen  Hussars." 

The  young  man's  face  became  scarlet  with  shame,  and  he 
tried  twice  to  speak,  but  unavailingly. 

With  a  merciless  slowness  of  utterance,  and  a  manner  of 
the  most  unmoved  sternness,  she  went  on  :  "I  did  not  deem 
the  proposal  at  all  exorbitant.  It  was  a  price  that  they 
could  well  afford  to  pay." 

"Well,  they  refused  me,"  said  he,  bluntly. 

"  Not  exactly  refused  you,"  said  she,  more  gently. 
"  They  reminded  you  of  the  necessity  of  conforming  —  of 
at  least  appearing  to  conform  —  to  the  rules  of  the  service ; 
that  you  had  only  been  a  few  months  in  command  of  a 
squadron;  that  your  debts,  which  were  considerable,  had 
been  noised  about  the  world,  so  that  a  little  time  should 
elapse,  and  a  favorable  opportunity  present  itself,  before 
this  promotion  could  be  effected." 

"  How  correctly  they  have  instructed  you  in  all  the 
details  of  this  affair !  "  said  he,  with  a  scornful  smile. 

"It  is  a  rare  event  when  I  am  misinformed,  sir,"  was 
her  cold  reply;  "nor  could  it  redound  to  the  advan- 
tage of  those  who  ask  my  advice  to  afford  me  incorrect 
information." 

"  Then  I  am  quite  unable  to  perceive  what  you  want  with 
me,"  cried  he.  "It  is  plain  enough  you  are  in  possession 
of  all  that  I  could  tell  you.  Or  is  all  this  only  the  prelude 
to  some  menace  or  other  ?  " 


MADAME  DE   SABLOUKOFF  IN  THE   MORNING.     329 

She  made  no  other  answer  to  this  rude  question  than  by  a 
smile  so  dubious  in  its  meaning,  it  might  imply  scorn,  or 
pity,  or  even  sorrow. 

"You  must  not  wonder  if  I  be  angry,"  continued  he,  in 
an  accent  that  betokened  shame  at  his  own  violence.  "  They 
have  treated  me  so  long  as  a  fool  that  they  have  made  me 
something  worse  than  one." 

"  I  am  not  offended  by  your  warmth,  Count,"  said  she, 
softly.  "It  is  at  least  the  guarantee  of  your  sincerity. 
I  tell  you,  therefore,  I  have  no  threat  to  hold  over  you. 
It  will  be  enough  that  I  can  show  you  the  impolicy  of  this 
marriage,  —  I  don't  want  to  use  a  stronger  word,  —  what 
estrangement  it  will  lead  to  as  regards  your  own  family,  how 
inadequately  it  will  respond  to  the  sacrifices  it  must  cost." 

"  That  consideration  is  for  me  to  think  of,  madam,"  said 
he,  proudly. 

"And  for  your  friends  also,"  interposed  she,  softly. 

"If  by  my  friends  you  mean  those  who  have  watched 
every  occasion  of  my  life  to  oppose  my  plans  and  thwart 
my  wishes,  I  conclude  that  they  will  prove  themselves  as 
vigilant  now  as  heretofore ;  but  I  am  getting  somewhat 
weary  of  this  friendship." 

"My  dear  Count,  give  me  a  patient  —  if  possible,  an 
indulgent —  hearing  for  five  minutes,  or  even  half  that  time, 
and  I  hope  it  will  save  us  both  a  world  of  misconception. 
If  this  marriage  that  you  are  so  eager  to  contract  were  an 
affair  of  love,  —  of  that  ardent,  passionate  love  which  recog- 
nizes no  obstacle  nor  acknowledges  any  barrier  to  its  wishes, 
—  I  could  regard  the  question  as  one  of  those  everyday 
events  in  life  whose  uniformity  is  seldom  broken  by  a  new 
incident;  for  love  stories  have  a  terrible  sameness  in  them." 
She  smiled  as  she  said  this,  and  in  such  a  way  as  to  make 
him  smile  at  first,  and  then  laugh  heartily. 

"  But  if,"  resumed  she,  seriously,  —  "  if  I  only  see  in  this 
project  a  mere  caprice,  half  —  more  than  half  —  based  upon 
the  pleasure  of  wounding  family  pride,  or  of  coercing  those 
who  have  hitherto  dictated  to  you;  if,  besides  this,  I  per- 
ceive that  there  is  no  strong  affection  on  either  side,  none 
of  that  impetuous  passion  which  the  world  accepts  as  '  the 
attenuating  circumstance  '  in  rash  marriages  —  " 


330        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"And  who  has  told  you  that  I  do  not  love  Ida,  or  that 
she  is  not  devoted  with  her  whole  heart  to  me  ?  "  cried  he, 
interrupting  her. 

*' You  yourself  have  told  the  first.  You  have  shown  by 
the  price  you  have  laid  on  the  object  the  value  at  which  you 
estimate  it.  As  for  the  latter  part  of  your  question  —  "  She 
paused,  and  arranged  the  folds  of  her  shawl,  purposely 
playing  with  his  impatience,  and  enjoying  it. 

''  Well,"  cried  he,  "  as  for  the  latter  part ;  go  on." 

"  It  scarcely  requires  an  answer.  I  saw  Ida  Delia  Torre 
last  night  in  a  society  of  which  her  affianced  husband  was  not 
one;  and,  I  will  be  bold  enough  to  say,  hers  was  not  the 
bearing  that  bespoke  engaged  affections." 

"Indeed!"  said  he,  but  in  a  tone  that  indicated  neither 
displeasure  nor  surprise. 

"It was  as  I  have  told  you,  Count.  Surrounded  by  the 
youth  of  Florence,  such  as  you  know  them,  she  laughed, 
and  talked,  and  sang,  in  all  the  careless  gayety  of  a  heart 
at  ease ;  or,  if  at  moments  a  shade  of  sadness  crossed  her 
features,  it  was  so  brief  that  only  one  observing  her  closely 
as  myself  could  mark  it." 

"  And  how  did  that  subtle  intelligence  of  yours  interpret 
this  show  of  sorrow?"  said  he,  in  a  voice  of  mockery,  but 
yet  of  deep  anxiety. 

"My  subtle  intelligence  was  not  taxed  to  guess,  for  I 
knew  her  secret,"  said  the  Princess,  with  all  the  strength  of 
conscious  power. 

"  Her  secret  —  her  secret !  "  said  he,  eagerly.  "  What  do 
you  mean  by  that?  " 

The  Princess  smiled  coldly,  and  said,  "I  have  not  yet 
found  my  frankness  so  well  repaid  that  I  should  continue  to 
extend  it." 

"  What  is  the  reward  to  be,  madam?  Name  it,"  said  he, 
boldly. 

"The  same  candor  on  your  part.  Count;  I  ask  for  no 
more." 

"But  what  have  I  to  reveal;  what  mystery  is  there  that 
your  omniscience  has  not  penetrated  ?  " 

* '  There  may  be  some  that  your  frankness  has  not  avowed, 
my  dear  Count." 


MADAME  DE  SABLOUKOFF   IN  THE  MORNING.     331 

*'  If  you  refer  to  what  you  have  called  Ida's  secret  —  " 

**  No,"  broke  she  in.  ''I  was  now  alluding  to  what 
might  be  called  your  secret." 

"  Mine  !  my  secret !  "  exclaimed  he.  But  though  the  tone 
was  meant  to  convey  great  astonishment,  the  confusion  of 
his  manner  was  far  more  apparent. 

''Your  secret.  Count,"  she  repeated  slowly,  "which  has 
been  just  as  safe  in  my  keeping  as  if  it  had  been  confided  to 
me  on  honor." 

"I  was  not  aware  how  much  I  owed  to  your  discretion, 
madam,"  said  he,  scoffingly. 

''I  am  but  too  happy  when  any  services  of  mine  can 
rescue  the  fame  of  a  great  family  from  reproach,  sk," 
replied  she,  proudly;  for  all  the  control  she  had  hereto- 
fore imposed  upon  her  temper  seemed  at  last  to  have  yielded 
to  offended  dignity.  "  Happily  for  that  illustrious  house  — 
happily  for  you,  too  —  I  am  one  of  a  very  few  who  know  of 
Count  Wahnsdorf's  doings.  To  have  suffered  your  antago- 
nist in  a  duel  to  be  tracked,  arrested,  and  imprisoned  in  an 
Austrian  fortress,  when  a  word  from  you  had  either  warned 
him  of  his  peril  or  averted  the  danger,  was  bad  enough ;  but 
to  have  stigmatized  his  name  with  cowardice,  and  to  have 
defamed  him  because  he  was  your  rival,  was  far  worse." 

Wahnsdorf  struck  the  table  with  his  clenched  fist  till  it 
shook  beneath  the  blow,  but  never  uttered  a  word,  while 
with  increased  energy  she  continued,  — 

' '  Every  step  of  this  bad  history  is  known  to  me ;  every 
detail  of  it,  from  your  gross  and  insulting  provocation  of 
this  poor  friendless  youth  to  the  last  scene  of  his  committal 
to  a  dungeon." 

"  And,  of  course,  you  have  related  your  interesting  narra- 
tive to  Ida?  "  cried  he. 

"No,  sir;  the  respect  which  I  have  never  lost  for  those 
whose  name  you  bear  had  been  quite  enough  to  restrain  me, 
had  I  not  even  other  thoughts." 

"  And  what  may  they  be?  "  asked  he. 

' '  To  take  the  first  opportunity  of  finding  myself  alone 
with  you,  to  represent  how  nearly  it  concerns  your  honor 
that  this  affair  should  never  be  bruited  abroad;  to  insist 
upon   your   lending   every  aid  to  obtain  this  young  man's 


332        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

liberation  ;  to  show  that  the  provocation  came  from  yourself ; 
and,  lastly,  all-painful  though  it  be,  to  remove  from  him  the 
stain  you  have  inflicted,  and  to  reinstate  him  in  the  esteem 
that  your  calumny  may  have  robbed  him  of.  These  were  the 
other  thoughts  I  alluded  to." 

**And  you  fancy  that  I  am  to  engage  in  this  sea  of 
trouble  for  the  sake  of  some  nameless  bastard,  while  in  doing 
so  I  compromise  myself  and  my  own  honor  ?  " 

"  Do  you  prefer  that  it  should  be  done  by  another,  Count 
Wahnsdorf?"  asked  she. 

'^  This  is  a  threat,  madam." 

"  All  the  speedier  will  the  matter  be  settled  if  you  under- 
stand it  as  such." 

"And,  ^of  course,  the  next  condition  will  be  for  me  to 
resign  my  pretensions  to  Ida  in  his  favor,"  said  he,  with  a 
savage  irony. 

"  I  stipulate  for  nothing  of  the  sort;  Count  Wahnsdorf 's 
pretensions  will  be  to-morrow  just  where  they  are  to-day." 

"You  hold  them  cheaply,  madam.  I  am  indeed  unfortu- 
nate in  all  my  pursuit  of  your  esteem." 

"  You  live  in  a  sphere  to  command  it,  sir,"  was  her  reply, 
given  with  a  counterfeited  humility  ;  and  whether  it  was  the 
tone  of  mingled  insolence  and  submission  she  assumed,  or 
simply  the  sense  of  his  own  unworthiness  in  her  sight,  but 
Wahnsdorf  cowered  before  her  like  a  frightened  child.  At 
this  moment  the  servant  entered,  and  presented  a  visiting- 
card  to  the  Princess. 

"Ah,  he  comes  in  an  opportune  moment,"  cried  she. 
"  This  is  the  Minister  of  the  Duke  of  Massa's  household,  — 
the  Chevalier  Stubber.  Yes,"  continued  she  to  the  servant, 
"  I  will  receive  him." 

If  there  was  not  any  conspicuous  gracefulness  in  the 
Chevalier's  approach,  there  was  an  air  of  quiet  self-posses- 
sion that  bespoke  a  sense  of  his  own  worth  and  importance ; 
and  while  he  turned  to  pay  his  respects  to  the  young  Count, 
his  unpolished  manner  was  not  devoid  of  a  certain  dignity. 

"  It  is  a  fortunate  chance  by  which  I  find  you  here.  Count 
Wahnsdorf,"  said  he,  "  for  you  will  be  glad  to  learn  that 
the  young  fellow  you  had  that  affair  with  at  Massa  has  just 
been  liberated." 


MADAME  DE  SABLOUKOFF   IN  THE   MORNING.     333 

*'  When,  and  how?  "  cried  the  Princess,  hastily. 

''As  to  the  time,  it  must  be  about  four  days  ago,  as  my 
letters  inform  me;  as  to  the  how,  I  fancy  the  Count  can 
best  inform  you,  —  he  has  interested  himself  greatly  in  the 
matter."  The  Count  blushed  deeply,  and  turned  away  to 
hide  his  face,  but  not  so  quickly  as  to  miss  the  expression 
of  scornful  meaning  with  which  the  Princess  regarded  him. 

"  But  I  want  to  hear  the  details.  Chevalier,"  said  she. 

"And  I  can  give  you  none,  madam.  My  despatches 
simply  mention  that  the  act  of  arrest  was  discovered  in 
some  way  to  be  informal.  Sir  Horace  Upton  proved  so 
much.  There  then  arose  a  question  of  giving  him  up  to 
us ;  but  my  master  declined  the  honor,  —  he  would  have  no 
trouble,  he  said,  with  England  or  Englishmen;  and  some 
say  that  the  youth  claims  an  English  nationality.  The  cabi- 
net of  Vienna  are,  perhaps,  like-minded  in  the  matter ;  at 
all  events,  he  is  free,  and  will  be  here  to-morrow." 

"  Then  I  shall  invite  him  to  dinner,  and  beg  both  of  you 
gentlemen  to  meet  him,"  said  she,  with  a  voice  wherein  a 
tone  of  malicious  drollery  mingled. 

"  I  am  your  servant,  madam,"  said  Stubber. 

''And  I  am  engaged,"  said  Wahnsdorf,  taking  up  his 
shako. 

"You  are  off  to  Vienna  to-night.  Count  Wahnsdorf," 
whispered  the  Princess  in  his  ear. 

"What  do  you  mean,  madam?"  said  he,  in  a  tone 
equally  low. 

"Only  that  I  have  a  letter  written  for  the  Archduchess 
Sophia,  which  I  desire  to  intrust  to  your  hands.  You  may 
as  well  read  ere  I  seal  it." 

The  Count  took  the  letter  from  her  hand,  and  retired 
towards  the  window  to  read  it.  While  she  conversed 
eagerly  with  Stubber,  she  did  not  fail  from  time  to  time  to 
glance  towards  the  other,  and  mark  the  expression  of  his 
features  as  he  folded  and  replaced  the  letter  in  its  envelope, 
and,  slowly  approaching  her,  said,  — 

"  You  are  most  discreet,  madam." 

"  I  hope  I  am  just,  sir,"  said  she,  modestly. 

"This  was  something  of  a  difficult  undertaking,  too," 
said  he,  with  an  equivocal  smile. 


334        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 


(( 


It  was  certainly  a  pleasant  and  proud  one,  sir,  as  it 
always  must  be,  to  write  to  a  mother  in  commendation  of 
her  son.  By  the  way.  Chevalier,  you  have  forgotten  to 
make  your  compliments  to  the  Count  on  his  promotion  —  " 

"I  have  not  heard  of  it,  madam;  what  may  it  be?" 
asked  Stubber. 

''  To  the  command  of  the  Pahlen  Hussars,  sir,  — one  of  the 
proudest  'charges*  of  the  Empire." 

A  rush  of  blood  to  Wahnsdorf's  face  was  as  quickly 
followed  by  a  deadly  pallor,  and  with  a  broken,  faint  utter- 
ance he  said,  "  Good-bye,"  and  left  the  room. 

"A  fine  young  fellow,  —  the  very  picture  of  a  soldier," 
exclaimed  Stubber,  looking  after  him. 

"A  chevalier  of  the  olden  time,  sir,  —  the  very  soul  of 
honor,"  said  the  Princess,  enthusiastically.  ''And  now  for 
J  a  little  gossip  with  yourself." 

It  is  not  "in  our  brief"  to  record  what  passed  in  that 
chatty  interview;  plenty  of  state  secrets  and  state  gossip 
there  was,  —  abundance  of  that  dangerous  trifling  which 
mixes  up  the  passions  of  society  with  the  great  game  of 
politics,  and  makes  statecraft  feel  the  impress  of  men's 
whims  and  caprices.  We  were  just  beginning  that  era, 
"  the  policy  of  resentments,"  which  has  since  pervaded 
Europe,  and  the  Chevalier  and  the  Princess  were  sufficiently 
behind  the  scenes  to  have  many  things  to  communicate ;  and 
here  we  must  leave  them  while  we  hasten  on  to  other  scenes 
and  other  actors. 


CHAPTER  XLin. 

DOINGS   IN   DOWNING    STREET. 

The  dull  old  precincts  of  Downing  Street  were  more  than 
usually  astir.  Hackney-coaches  and  cabs  at  an  early  hour, 
private  chariots  somewhat  later,  went  to  and  fro  along  the 
dreary  pavement,  and  two  cabinet  messengers  with  splashed 
caliches  arrived  in  hot  haste  from  Dover.  Frequent,  too, 
were  the  messages  from  the  House ;  a  leading  Oppositionist 
was  then  thundering  away  against  the  Government,  inveigh- 
ing against  the  treacherous  character  of  their  foreign  policy, 
and  indignantly  calling  on  them  for  certain  despatches  to 
their  late  envoy  at  Naples.  At  every  cheer  which  greeted 
him  from  his  party  a  fresh  missive  would  be  despatched  from 
the  Treasury  benches,  and  the  whisper,  at  first  cautiously 
muttered,  grew  louder  and  louder,  "Why  does  not  Upton 
come  down?" 

So  intricate  has  been  the  web  of  our  petty  entanglements, 
so  complex  the  threads  of  those  small  intrigues  by  which  we 
have  earned  our  sobriquet  of  the  "  perfide  Albion,"  that  it  is 
difficult  at  this  time  of  day  to  recall  the  exact  question  whose 
solution,  in  the  words  of  the  orator  of  the  debate,  "  placed 
us  either  at  the  head  of  Europe,  or  consigned  to  us  the  fatal 
mediocrity  of  a  third-rate  power."  The  prophecy,  whichever 
way  read,  gives  us  unhappily  no  clew  to  the  matter  in  hand, 
and  we  are  only  left  to  conjecture  that  it  was  an  intervention 
in  Spain,  or  "something  about  the  Poles."  As  is  usual 
in  such  cases,  the  matter,  insignificant  enough  in  itself,  was 
converted  into  a  serious  attack  on  the  Government,  and  all 
the  strength  of  the  Opposition  was  arrayed  to  give  power 
and  consistency  to  the  assault.  As  is  equally  usual,  the 
cabinet  was  totally  unprepared  for  defence ;  either  they  had 
altogether  undervalued  the  subject,  or  they  trusted  to  the 
secrecy  with  which  they  had   conducted  it;    whichever   of 


336        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

these  be  the  right  explanation,  each  minister  could  only  say 
to  his  colleague,  "It  never  came  before  me;  Upton  knows 
all  about  it." 

' '  And  where  is  Upton  ?  —  why  does  he  not  come  down  ?  " 
—  were  again  and  again  reiterated ;  while  a  shower  of 
messages  and  even  mandates  invoked  his  presence. 

The  last  of  these  was  a  peremptory  note  from  no  less  a 
person  than  the  Premier  himself,  written  in  three  very  signi- 
ficant words,  thus :  "  Come,  or  go  ;  "  and  given  to  a  trusty 
whip,  the  Hon.  Gerald  Neville,  to  deliver. 

Armed  with  this  not  very  conciliatory  document,  the  well- 
practised  tactician  drew  up  to  the  door  of  the  Foreign 
Office,  and  demanded  to  see  the  Secretary  of  State. 

*'  Give  him  this  card  and  this  note,  sir,"  said  he  to  the 
well-dressed  and  very  placid  young  gentleman  who  acted  as 
his  private  secretary. 

"  Su*  Horace  is  very  poorly,  sir ;  he  is  at  this  moment  in  a 
mineral  bath ;  but  as  the  matter  you  say  is  pressing,  he  will 
see  you.     Will  you  pass  this  way?  " 

Mr.  Neville  followed  his  guide  through  an  infinity  of 
passages,  and  at  length  reached  a  large  folding-door,  open- 
ing one  side  of  which  he  was  ushered  into  a  spacious  apart- 
ment, but  so  thoroughly  impregnated  with  a  thick  and 
offensive  vapor  that  he  could  barely  perceive,  through  the 
mist,  the  bath  in  which  Upton  lay  reclined,  and  the  figure  of 
a  man,  whose  look  and  attitude  bespoke  the  doctor,  beside 
him. 

"Ah,  my  dear  fellow,"  sighed  Upton,  extending  two 
dripping  fingers  in  salutation,  "you  have  come  in  at  the 
death.     This  is  the  last  of  it !  " 

"  No,  no;  don't  say  that,"  cried  the  other,  encouragingly. 
"Have  you  had  any  sudden  seizure?  What  is  the  nature 
of  it?" 

"He,"  said  he,  looking  round  to  the  doctor,  "calls  it 
'  arachnoidal  trismus,'  —  a  thing,  he  says,  that  they  have  all 
of  them  ignored  for  many  a  day,  though  Charlemagne  died 
of  it.  Ah,  Doctor,"  — and  he  addressed  a  question  to  him 
in  German. 

A  growled  volley  of  gutturals  ensued,  and  Upton  went 
on;  — 


DOINGS  IN  DOWNING  STREET.  337 

"Yes,  Charlemagne, — Melancthon  had  it,  but  lingered 
for  years.  It  is  the  peculiar  affection  of  great  intellectual 
natures  over- taxed  and  over- worked." 

Whether  there  was  that  in  the  manner  of  the  sick  man 
that  inspired  hope,  or  something  in  the  aspect  of  the  doctor 
that  suggested  distrust,  or  a  mixture  of  the  two  together, 
but  certainly  Neville  rapidly  rallied  from  the  fears  which 
had  beset  him  on  entering,  and  in  a  voice  of  a  more  cheery 
tone,  said,  — 

''Come,  come.  Sir  Horace,  you'll  throw  off  this  as  you 
have  done  other  such  attacks.  You  have  never  been  wanting 
either  to  your  friends  or  yourself  when  the  hour  of  emer- 
gency called.  We  are  in  a  moment  of  such  difficulty  now, 
and  you  alone  can  rescue  us." 

"How  cruel  of  the  Duke  to  write  me  that!"  sighed 
Upton,  as  he  held  up  the  piece  of  paper,  from  which  the 
water  had  obliterated  all  trace  of  the  words.  "  It  was  so 
inconsiderate,  —  eh,  Neville  ?  " 

"I'm  not  aware  of  the  terms  he  employed,"  said  the 
other. 

This  was  the  very  admission  that  Upton  sought  to  obtain, 
and  in  a  far  more  cheery  voice  he  said,  — 

"  If  I  was  capable  of  the  effort,  —  if  Doctor  Geiimirstad 
thought  it  safe  for  me  to  venture,  —  I  could  set  all  this  to 
right.  These  people  are  all  talking  '  without  book,'  Neville, 
—  the  ever-recurring  blunder  of  an  Opposition  when  they 
address  themselves  to  a  foreign  question :  they  go  upon  a 
newspaper  paragraph,  or  the  equally  incorrect  '  private 
communication  from  a  friend.'  Men  in  office  alone  can 
attain  to  truth  —  exact  truth  —  about  questions  of  foreign 
policy." 

"  The  debate  is  taking  a  serious  turn,  however,"  inter- 
posed Neville.  "  They  reiterate  very  bold  assertions,  which 
none  of  our  people  are  in  a  position  to  contradict.  Their 
confidence  is  evidently  increasing  with  the  show  of  confusion 
in  our  ranks.  Something  must  be  done  to  meet  them,  and 
that  quickly." 

"Well,  I  suppose  I  must  go,"  sighed  Upton;  and  as  he 
held  out  his  wrist  to  have  his  pulse  felt,  he  addressed  a  few 
words  to  the  doctor. 


338        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

''He  calls  it  'a  life  period,*  Neville.  He  says  that  he 
won't  answer  for  the  consequences." 

The  doctor  muttered  on. 

"  He  adds  that  the  trismus  may  be  thus  converted  into 
'  Bi- trismus.'     Just  imagine  Bi- trismus  !  " 

This  was  a  stretch  of  fancy  clear  and  away  beyond 
Neville's  apprehension,  and  he  began  to  feel  certain  mis- 
givings about  pushing  a  request  so  full  of  danger ;  but  from 
this  he  was  in  a  measure  relieved  by  the  tone  in  which 
Upton  now  addressed  his  valet  with  directions  as  to  the  dress 
he  intended  to  wear.  ' '  The  loose  pelisse,  with  the  astrakhan, 
Giuseppe,  and  that  vest  of  cramoisie  velvet ;  and  if  you  will 
just  glance  at  the  newspaper,  Neville,  in  the  next  room,  I  '11 
come  to  you  immediately." 

The  newspapers  of  the  morning  after  this  interview  afford 
us  the  speediest  mode  of  completing  the  incidents ;  and  the 
concluding  sentences  of  a  leading  article  will  be  enough  to 
place  before  our  readers  what  ensued :  — 

"  It  was  at  this  moment,  and  amidst  the  most  enthusiastic 
cheers  of  the  Treasury  bench,  that  Sir  Horace  Upton  entered  the 
House.  Leaning  on  the  arm  of  Mr.  Neville,  he  slowly  passed  up 
and  took  his  accustomed  place.  The  traces  of  severe  illness  in 
his  features,  and  the  great  debility  which  his  gestures  displayed, 
gave  an  unusual  interest  to  a  scene  already  almost  dramatic  in  its 
character.  For  a  moment  the  great  chief  of  Opposition  was 
obliged  to  pause  in  his  assault,  to  let  this  flood-tide  of  sympathy 
pass  on ;  and  when  at  length  he  did  resume,  it  was  plain  to  see 
how  much  the  tone  of  his  invective  had  been  tempered  by  a  re- 
spect for  the  actual  feeling  of  the  House.  The  necessity  for  this 
act  of  deference,  added  to  the  consciousness  that  he  was  in  pres- 
ence of  the  man  whose  acts  he  so  strenuously  denounced,  were 
too  much  for  the  nerves  of  the  orator,  and  he  came  to  an  abrupt 
conclusion,  whose  confused  and  uncertain  sentences  scarcely  war- 
ranted the  cheers  with  which  his  friends  rallied  him. 

"  Sir  Horace  rose  at  once  to  reply.  His  voice  was  at  first  so 
inarticulate  that  we  could  but  catch  the  burden  of  what  he  said,  — 
a  request  that  the  House  would  accord  him  all  the  indulgence 
which  his  state  of  debility  and  suffering  called  for.  K  the  first 
few  sentences  he  uttered  imparted  a  painful  significance  to  the 
entreaty,  it  very  soon  became  apparent  that  he  had  no  occasion  to 
bespeak  such  indulgence.  In  a  voice  that  gained  strength  and 
fulness  as  he  proceeded,  he  entered  upon  what  might  be  called  a 


DOINGS  IN  DOWNING  STRI;ET.  339 

narrative  of  the  foreign  policy  of  the  administration,  clearly  show- 
ing that  their  course  was  guided  by  certain  great  principles  which 
dictated  a  line  of  action  firm  and  undeviating ;  that  the  measures 
of  the  Government,  however  modified  by  passing  events  in 
Europe,  had  been  uniformly  consistent,  —  based  upon  the  faith  of 
treaties,  but  ever  mindful  of  the  growing  requirements  of  the  age. 
Through  a  narrative  of  singular  complexity  he  guided  himself 
with  consummate  skill,  and  though  detailing  events  which  occu- 
pied every  region  of  the  globe,  neither  confusion  nor  inconsis- 
tency ever  marred  the  recital,  and  names  and  places  and  dates 
were  quoted  by  him  without  any  artificial  aid  to  memory." 

There  was  in  the  polished  air,  and  calm,  dispassionate 
delivery  of  the  speaker,  something  which  seemed  to  charm 
the  ears  of  those  who  for  four  hours  before  had  been  so 
mercilessly  assailed  by  all  the  vituperation  and  insolence  of 
party  animosity.  It  was,  so  to  say,  a  period  of  relief  and 
repose,  to  which  even  antagonists  were  not  insensible.  No 
man  ever  understood  the  advantage  of  his  gifts  in  this  way 
better  than  Upton,  nor  ever  was  there  one  who  could  con- 
vert the  powers  which  fascinated  society  into  the  means  of 
controlling  a  popular  assembly,  with  greater  assurance  of 
success.  He  was  a  man  of  a  strictly  logical  mind,  a  close 
and  acute  thinker ;  he  was  of  a  highly  imaginative  tempera- 
ment, rich  in  all  the  resources  of  a  poetic  fancy;  he  was 
thoroughly  well  read,  and  gifted  with  a  ready  memory ;  but, 
above  all  these,  —  transcendently  above  them  all,  —  he  was  a 
*'man  of  the  world;  "  and  no  one,  either  in  Parliament  or 
out  of  it,  knew  so  well  when  it  was  wrong  to  say  "  the  right 
thing."     But  let  us  resume  our  quotation :  — 

"  For  more  than  three  hours  did  the  House  listen  with  breath- 
less attention  to  a  narrative  which  in  no  parliamentary  experience 
has  been  surpassed  for  the  lucid  clearness  of  its  details,  ,  the 
unbroken  flow  of  its  relation.  The  orator  up  to  this  time  had 
strictly  devoted  himself  to  explanation ;  he  now  proceeded  to 
what  might  be  called  reply.  If  the  House  was  charmed  and  in- 
structed before,  it  was  now  positively  astonished  and  electrified 
by  the  overwhelming  force  of  the  speaker's  raillery  and  invective. 
Not  satisfied  with  showing  the  evil  consequences  that  must  ensue 
from  any  adoption  of  the  measures  recommended  by  the  Oppo- 
sition, he  proceeded  to  exhibit  the  insufficiency  of  views  always 
based  upon  false  information. 


340        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 


a  i 


We  have  been  taunted,'  said  he,  *  with  the  charge  of  foment- 
ing discords  in  foreign  lands  ;  we  have  been  arraigned  as  disturb- 
ers of  the  world's  peace,  and  called  the  firebrands  of  Europe  ;  we 
are  exhibited  as  parading  the  Continent  with  a  more  than  Quix- 
otic ardor,  since  we  seek  less  the  redress  of  wrong  than  the 
opportunity  to  display  our  own  powers  of  interference,  —  that  qual- 
ity which  the  learned  gentleman  has  significantly  stigmatized  as 
a  spirit  of  meddling  impertinence,  offensive  to  the  whole  world  of 
civilization.  Let  me  tell  him,  sir,  that  the  very  debate  of  this 
night  has  elicited,  and  from  himself  too,  the  very  outrages  he  has 
had  the  temerity  to  ascribe  to  us.  His  has  been  this  indiscrimin- 
ate ardor,  his  this  unjudging  rashness,  his  this  meddling  imperti- 
nence (I  am  but  quoting,  not  inventing,  a  phrase),  by  which,  with- 
out accurate,  without,  indeed,  any,  information,  he  has  ventured 
to  charge  the  Government  with  what  no  administration  would  be 
guilty,  of  —  a  cool  and  deliberate  violation  of  the  national  law  of 
Europe. 

" '  He  has  told  you,  sir,  that  in  our  eagerness  to  distinguish 
ourselves  as  universal  redressers  of  injury,  we  have  "  ferreted  out " 
—  I  take  his  own  polished  expression  —  the  case  of  an  obscure  boy 
in  an  obscure  corner  of  Italy,  converted  a  commonplace  and  very 
vulgar  incident  into  a  tale  of  interest,  and,  by  a  series  of  artful  de- 
vices and  insinuations  based  upon  this  narrative,  a  grave  and 
insulting  charge  upon  one  of  the  oldest  of  our  allies.  He  has 
alleged  that  throughout  the  whole  of  those  proceedings  we  had 
not  the  shadow  of  pretence  for  our  interference ;  that  the  acts 
imputed  occurred  in  a  land  over  which  we  had  no  control,  and  in 
the  person  of  an  individual  in  whom  we  had  no  interest;  that 
this  Sebastiano  Greppi  —  this  image  boy,  for  so  with  a  cour- 
teous pleasantry  he  has  called  him  —  was  a  Neapolitan  subject, 
the  affiliated  envoy  of  I  know  not  what  number  of  secret  societies  ; 
that  his  sculptural  pretensions  were  but  pretexts  to  conceal  his 
real  avocations,  —  the  agency  of  a  bloodthirsty  faction  ;  that  his 
crime  was  no  less  than  an  act  of  high  treason ;  and  that  Austrian 
gentleness  and  mercy  were  never  more  conspicuously  illustrated 
than  in  the  commutation  of  a  death-sentence  to  one  of  perpetual 
imprisonment. 

" '  What  a  rude  task  is  mine  when  I  must  say  that  for  even  one 
of  these  assertions  there  is  not  the  slightest  foundation  in  fact. 
Greppi's  oif ence  was  not  a  crime  against  the  state ;  as  little  was  it 
committed  within  the  limits  of  the  Austrian  territory.  He  is  not 
the  envoy,  or  even  a  member,  of  any  revolutionary  club  ;  he  never 
—  I  am  speaking  with  knowledge,  sir  —  he  never  mingled  in  the 
schemes  of  plotting  politicians  ;  as  far  removed  is  he  from  sympa- 
thy with  such  men,  as,  in  the  genius  of  a  great  artist,  he  is  elevated 


DOINGS  IN  DOWNING  STREET.  341 

above  the  humble  path  to  which  the  learned  gentleman's  raillery 
would  sentence  him.  For  the  character  of  "  an  image  vendor," 
the  learned  gentleman  must  look  nearer  home ;  and,  lastly,  this 
youth  is  an  Englishman,  and  born  of  a  race  and  a  blood  that  need 
feel  no  shame  in  comparison  with  any  I  see  around  me  ! ' 

"  To  the  loud  cry  of  '  Name,  name,'  which  now  arose,  Sir  Hor- 
ace replied  :  '  If  I  do  not  announce  the  name  at  this  moment,  it  is 
because  there  are  circumstances  in  the  history  of  the  youth  to 
which  publicity  would  give  irreparable  pain.  These  are  details 
which  I  have  no  right  to  bring  under  discussion,  and  which  must 
inevitably  thus  become  matters  of  town-talk.  To  any  gentleman 
of  the  opposite  side  who  may  desire  to  verify  the  assertions  I  have 
made  to  the  House,  I  would,  under  pledge  of  secrecy,  reveal  the 
name.  I  would  do  more  ;  I  would  permit  him  to  confide  it  to  a 
select  number  of  friends  equally  pledged  with  himself.  This  is 
surely  enough  ? '  " 

We  have  no  occasion  to  continue  our  quotation  farther, 
and  we  take  up  our  history  as  Sir  Horace,  overwhelmed  by 
the  warmest  praises  and  congratulations,  drove  off  from  the 
House  to  his  home.  Amid  all  the  excitement  and  enthu- 
siasm which  this  brilliant  success  produced  among  the  min- 
isterialists, there  was  a  kind  of  dread  lest  the  overtaxed 
powers  of  the  orator  should  pay  the  heavy  penalty  of  such 
an  effort.  They  had  all  heard  how  he  came  from  a  sick 
chamber;  they  had  all  seen  him,  trembling,  faint,  and 
almost  voiceless,  as  he  stole  up  to  his  place,  and  they  began 
to  fear  lest  they  had,  in  the  hot  zeal  of  party,  imperilled  the 
ablest  chief  in  their  ranks. 

What  a  relief  to  these  agonies  had  it  been,  could  they 
have  seen  Upton  as  he  once  more  gained  the  solitude  of  his 
chamber,  where,  divested  of  all  the  restraints  of  an  audience, 
he  walked  leisurely  up  and  down,  smoking  a  cigar,  and 
occasionally  smiling  pleasantly  as  some  ' '  conceit "  crossed 
his  mind. 

Had  there  been  any  one  to  mark  him  there,  it  is  more 
than  likely  that  he  would  have  regarded  him  as  a  man 
revelling  in  the  after-thought  of  a  great  success,  —  one  who, 
having  come  gloriously  through  the  combat,  was  triumphantly 
recalling  to  his  memory  every  incident  of  the  fight.  How 
little  had  they  understood  Sir  Horace  Upton  who  would  have 
read  him  in   this  wise!     That  daring  and   soaring   nature 


342        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

rarely  dallied  in  the  past;  even  the  present  was  scarcely 
full  enough  for  the  craving  of  a  spirit  that  cried  ever, 
' '  Forward  !  " 

What  might  be  made  of  that  night's  success;  how  best 
it  should  be  turned  to  account !  —  these  were  the  thoughts 
which  beset  him,  and  many  were  the  devices  which  his 
subtlety  hit  on  to  this  end.  There  was  not  a  goal  his 
ambition  could  point  to  but  which  became  associated  with 
some  deteriorating  ingredient.  He  was  tired  of  the  Con- 
tinent, he  hated  England,  he  shuddered  at  the  Colonies. 
"  India,  perhaps,"  said  he,  hesitatingly,  —  "  India,  perhaps, 
might  do."  To  continue  as  he  was, — to  remain  in  ofBce, 
as  having  reached  the  topmost  round  of  the  ladder,  —  would 
have  been  insupportable  indeed;  and  yet  how,  without 
longer  service  at  his  post,  could  any  man  claim  a  higher 
reward? 


CHAPTER   XLIV. 

THE    SUBTLETIES    OF    STATECRAFT. 

It  was  not  till  Sir  Horace  had  smoked  his  third  cigar  that 
he   seated   himself    at   his    writing-table.     He   then    wrote' 
rapidly   a   brief   note,   of   which   he   proceeded  ^to  make  a 
careful  copy.     This  he  folded  and  placed  in  an  envelope, 
addressing  it  to  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Cloudeslie. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  he  began  to  prepare  for  bed. 
The  day  was  already  breaking,  and  yet  that  sick  man  was 
unwearied  and  unwasted ;  not  a  trace  of  fatigue  on  features 
that,  under  the  infliction  of  a  tiresome  dinner-party,  would 
have  seemed  bereft  of  hope. 

The  tied-up  knocker,  the  straw-strewn  street,  the  closely 
drawn  curtains  announced  to  London  the  next  morning  that 
the  distinguished  minister  was  seriously  ill;  and  from  an 
early  hour  the  tide  of  inquirers,  in  carriages  and  on  foot, 
passed  silently  along  that  dreary  way.  High  and  mighty 
were  the  names  inscribed  in  the  porter's  book ;  royal  dukes 
had  called  in  person ;  and  never  was  public  solicitude  more 
widely  manifested.  There  is  something  very  flattering  in 
the  thought  of  a  great  intelligence  being  damaged  and 
endangered  in  our  service !  With  all  its  melancholy  in- 
fluences, there  is  a  feeling  of  importance  suggested  by  the 
idea  that  for  us  and  our  interests  a  man  of  commanding 
powers  should  have  jeoparded  his  life.  There  is  a  very 
general  prejudice,  not  alone  in  obtaining  the  best  article  for 
our  money,  but  the  most  of  it  also  ;  and  this  sentiment  extends 
to  the  individuals  employed  in  the  public  service ;  and  it  is 
doubtless  a  very  consolatory  reflection  to  the  tax-paying 
classes  that  the  great  functionaries  of  state  are  not  indolent 
recipients  of  princely  incomes,  but  hard-worked  men  of  oflSce, 
up  late  and  early  at  their  duties,  —  prematurely  old,   and 


344        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

worn  out  before  their  time !  Something  of  this  same  feeling 
inspires  much  of  the  sympathy  displayed  for  a  sick  states- 
man, —  a  sentiment  not  altogether  void  of  a  certain  misgiving 
that  we  have  probably  over-taxed  the  energies  employed  in 
our  behalf. 

Scarcely  one  in  a  hundred  of  those  who  nDw  called  and 
"  left  then-  names  "  had  ever  seen  Sir  Horace  Upton  in  their 
lives.  Few  are  more  removed  from  public  knowledge  than 
ihe  men  who  fill  even  the  highest  places  in  our  diplomacy. 
He  was,  therefore,  to  the  mass  a  mere  name.  Since  his 
accession  to  office  little  or  nothing  had  been  heard  of  him, 
and  of  that  little,  the  greater  part  was  made  up  of  sneering 
allusions  to  his  habits  of  indolence ;  impertinent  hints  about 
his  caprices  and  his  tastes.  Yet  now,  by  a  grand  effort  in 
the  ''  House,"  and  a  well  got-up  report  of  a  dangerous  illness 
the  day  after,  was  he  the  most  marked  man  in  all  the  state, 
—  the  theme  of  solicitude  throughout  two  millions  of  people  ! 

There  was  a  dash  of  mystery,  too,  in  the  whole  incident, 
which  heightened  its  flavor  for  public  taste ;  a  vague,  indis- 
tinct impression  —  it  did  not  even  amount  to  rumor  —  was 
abroad,  that  Sir  Horace  had  not  been  "fairly  treated"  by 
his  colleagues ;  either  that  they  could,  if  they  wished  it, 
have  defended  the  cause  themselves,  or  that  they  had  need- 
lessly called  him  from  a  sick  bed  to  come  to  the  rescue,  or" 
that  some  subtle  trap  had  been  laid  to  ensnare  him.  These 
were  vulgar  beliefs,  which,  if  they  obtained  little  credence  in 
the  higher  region  of  club-life,  were  extensively  circulated, 
and  not  discredited,  in  less  distinguished  circles.  How  they 
ever  got  abroad  at  all;  how  they  found  their  ways  into 
newspaper  paragraphs,  terrifying  timid  supporters  of  the 
ministry  by  the  dread  prospect  of  a  "  smash,"  exciting 
the  hopes  of  Opposition  with  the  notion  of  a  great  seces- 
sion, throwing  broadcast  before  the  world  of  readers  every 
species  of  speculation,  all  kinds  of  combination,  — who 
knows  how  all  this  happened  ?  Who,  indeed,  ever  knew  how 
things  a  thousand  times  more  secret  ever  got  wind  and 
became  club-talk  ere  the  actors  in  the  events  had  finished  an 
afternoon's  canter  in  the  Park? 

If,  then,  the  world  of  London  learned  on  the  morning  in 
question  that  Sir  Horace  Upton  was  very  ill,  it  also  surmised 


THE  SUBTLETIES  OF  STATECRAFT.      345 

—  why  and  wherefore  it  knows  best  —  that  the  same  Sir 
Horace  was  an  ill-used  man.  Now,  of  all  the  objects  of 
public  sympathy  and  interest,  next  after  a  foreign  emperor 
on  a  visit  at  Buckingham  Palace,  or  a  newly  arrived  hippo- 
potamus at  the  Zoological  Gardens,  there  is  nothing  your 
British  public  is  so  fond  of  as  "an  ill-used  man."  It  is 
essential,  however,  to  his  great  success  that  he  be  ill-used 
in  high  places ;  that  his  enemies  and  calumniators  should 
have  been,  if  not  princes,  at  least  dukes  and  marquises  and 
great  dignitaries  of  the  state.  Let  him  only  be  supposed  to 
be  martyred  by  these,  and  there  is  no  saying  where  his 
popularity  may  be  carried.  A  very  general  impression  is 
current  that  the  mass  of  the  nation  is  more  or  less  "  ill- 
used," —  denied  its  natural  claims  and  just  rewards.  To  hit 
upon,  therefore,  a  good  representation  of  this  hard  usage, 
to  find  a  tangible  embodiment  of  this  great  injustice,  is  a 
discovery  that  is  never  unappreciated. 

To  read  his  speech  of  the  night  before,  and  to  peruse  the 
ill-scrawled  bulletin  of  his  health  at  the  hall  door  in  the 
morning,  made  up  the  measure  of  his  popularity,  and  the 
world  exclaimed,  "Think  of  the  man  they  have  treated  in 
this  fashion  !  "  Every  one  framed  the  indictment  to  his  own 
taste ;  nor  was  the  wrong  the  less  grievous  that  none  could 
give  it  a  name.  Even  cautious  men  fell  into  the  trap,  and 
were  heard  to  say,  "  If  all  we  hear  be  true,  Upton  has  not 
been  fairly  treated." 

What  an  air  of  confirmation  to  all  these  rumors  did  it 
give,  when  the  evening  papers  announced  in  the  most  strik- 
ing type :  Resignation  of  Sir  Horace  Upton.  If  the 
terms  in  which  he  communicated  that  step  to  the  Premier 
were  not  before  the  world,  the  date,  the  very  night  of  the 
debate,  showed  that  the  resolution  had  been  come  to 
suddenly. 

Some  of  the  journals  affected  to  be  in  the  whole  secret  of 
the  transaction,  and  only  waiting  the  opportune  moment  to 
announce  it  to  the  world.  The  dark,  mysterious  paragraphs 
in  which  journalists  show  their  no-meanings  abounded,  and 
menacing  hints  were  thrown  out  that  the  country  would  no 
longer  submit  to  —  Heaven  knows  what.  There  was,  besides 
all  this,   a  very  considerable   amount  of   that   catechetical 


346        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

inquiry,  which,  by  suggesting  a  number  of  improbabilities, 
hopes  to  arrive  at  the  likely,  and  thus,  by  asking  questions 
where  they  had  a  perfect  confidence  they  would  never  be 
answered,  they  seemed  to  overwhelm  their  adversaries  with 
shame  and  discomfiture.  The  great  fact,  however,  was  in- 
disputable,—  Upton  had  resigned. 

To  the  many  who  looked  up  at  the  shuttered  windows 
of  his  sad-looking  London  house,  this  reflection  occurred 
naturally  enough,  —  How  little  the  poor  sufferer,  on  his 
sick  bed,  cared  for  the  contest  that  raged  around  him; 
how  far  away  were,  in  all  probability,  his  thoughts  from 
that  world  of  striving  and  ambition  whose  waves  came  to 
his  door-sills.  Let  us,  in  that  privilege  which  belongs  to 
us,  take  a  peep  within  the  curtained  room,  where  a  bright 
fire  is  blazing,  and  where,  seated  behind  a  screen.  Sir  Hor- 
ace is  now  penning  a  note ;  a  bland  half  smile  rippling  his 
features  as  some  pleasant  conceit  has  flashed  across  his 
mind.  We  have  rarely  seen  him  looking  so  well.  The 
stimulating  events  of  the  last  few  days  have  done  for  him 
more  than  all  the  counsels  of  his  doctors,  and  his  eyes  are 
brighter  and  his  cheeks  fuller  than  usual.  A  small  minia- 
ture hangs  suspended  by  a  narrow  ribbon  round  his  neck, 
and  a  massive  gold  bracelet  adorns  one  wrist,  —  "two 
souvenirs "  which  he  stops  to  contemplate  as  he  writes ; 
nor  is  there  a  touch  of  sorrowful  meaning  in  the  glance  he 
bestows  upon  them,  —  the  look  rather  seems  the  self-com- 
placent regard  that  a  successful  general  might  bestow  on 
the  decorations  he  had  won  by  his  vator.  It  is  essentially 
vainglorious. 

More  than  once  has  he  paused  to  read  over  the  sentence 
he  has  written,  and  one  may  see,  by  the  motion  of  his  lips 
as  he  reads,  how  completely  he  has  achieved  the  sentiment 
he  would  express.  "Yes,  charming  Princess,"  said  he, 
perusing  the  lines  before  him,  "I've  once  more  to  throw 
myself  at  your  feet,  and  reiterate  the  assurances  of  a 
devotion  which  has  formed  the  happiness  of  my  existence." 
("  That  does  not  sound  quite  French,  after  all,"  muttered  he  ; 
"  better  perhaps  :  '  has  formed  the  religion  of  my  heart.* ") 
"I  know  you  will  reproach  my  precipitancy;  I  feel  how 
your  judgment,  unerring  as  it  ever  is,  will  condemn  what 


THE  SUBTLETIES  OF  STATECRAFT.  347 

may  seem  a  sudden  ebullition  of  temper;  but,  I  ask,  is 
this  amongst  the  catalogue  of  my  weaknesses?  Am  I  of 
that  clay  which  is  always  fissured  when  heated  ?  No.  You 
know  me  better,  —  you  alone  of  all  the  world  have  the  clew 
to  a  heart  whose  affections  are  all  your  own.  The  few 
explanations  of  all  that  has  happened  must  be  reserved 
for  our  meeting.  Of  course,  neither  the  newspapers  nor  the 
reviews  have  any  conception  of  the  truth.  Four  words  will 
set  your  heart  at  ease,  and  these  you  must  have :  '  I  have 
done  wisely ; '  with .  that  assurance  you  have  no  more  to 
fear.  I  mean  to  leave  this  in  all  secrecy  by  the  end  of  the 
week.  I  shall  go  over  to  Brussels,  where  you  can  address 
me  under  the  name  of  Richard  Bingham.  I  shall  only 
remain  there  to  watch  events  for  a  day  or  two,  and  thence 
on  to  Geneva. 

"  I  am  quite  charmed  with  your  account  of  poor  Lady 
G ,  though,  as  I  read,  I  can  detect  how  all  the  fascina- 
tions you  tell  of  were  but  reflected  glories.  Your  view  of 
her  situation  is  admkable,  and,  by  your  skilful  tactique,  it 
is  she  herself  that  ostracizes  the  society  that  would  only 
have  accepted  her  on  sufferance.  How  true  is  your  remark 
as  to  the  great  question  at  issue,  —  not  her  guilt  or  inno- 
cence, but  what  danger  might  accrue  to  others  from  infrac- 
tions that  invite  publicity.  The  cabinet  were  discussing 
t'other  day  a  measure  by  which  sales  of  estated  property 
could  be  legalized  without  those  tiresome  and  costly 
researches  into  title  which,  in  a  country  where  confisca- 
tions were  frequent,  became  at  last  endless  labor.  Don't 
you  think  that  some  such  measure  might  be  beneficially 
adopted  as  regards  female  character?  Could  there  not  be 
invented  a  species  of  social  guarantee  which,  rejecting 
all  investigation  into  bygones  after  a  certain  limit,  would 
confer  a  valid  title  that  none  might  dispute  ? 

*' Lawyers  tell  us  that  no  man's  property  would  stand 
the  test  of  a  search  for  title.  Are  we  quite  certain  how  far 
the  other  sex  are  our  betters  in  this  respect ;  and  might  it 
not  be  wise  to  interpose  a  limit  beyond  which  research  need 
not  proceed? 

"  I  concur  in  all  you  say  about  G himself.     He  was 

always  looking  for  better  security  than  he  needed,  —  a  great 


348        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

mistake,  whether  the  investment  consist  of  our  affections  or 
our  money.  Physicians  say  that  if  any  man  could  only  see 
the  delicate  anatomy  on  which  his  life  depends,  and  watch 
the  play  of  those  organs  that  sustain  him,  he  would  not  have 
courage  to  move  a  step  or  utter  a  loud  word.  Might  we 
not  carry  the  analogy  into  morals,  and  ask,  is  it  safe  or 
prudent  in  us  to  investigate  too  deeply  ?  are  we  wise  in  dis- 
secting motives?  or  would  it  not  be  better  to  enjoy  our 
moral  as  we  do  our  material  health,  without  seeking  to 
assure  ourselves  further? 

''Besides  all  this,  the  untra veiled  Englishman —  and  such 
was  Glencore  when  he  married  —  never  can  be  brought  to 
understand  the  harmless  levities  of  foreign  life.  Like  a 
fresh-water  sailor,  he  always  fancies  the  boat  is  going  to  up- 
set, and  he  throws  himself  out  at  the  first  '  jobble ' !  I  own 
to  you  frankly,  I  never  knew  the  case  in  question  ;  '  how  far 
she  went,'  is  a  secret  to  me.  I  might  have  heard  the  whole 
story.  It  required  some  address  in  me  to  escape  it ;  but  I  do 
detest  these  narrations,  where  truth  is  marred  by  passion, 
and  all  just  inferences  confused  and  confounded  with  vague 
and  absurd  suspicions. 

"  Glencore's  conduct  throughout  was  little  short  of  in- 
sanity ;  like  a  man  who,  hearing  liis  banker  is  insecure,  takes 
refuge  in  insolvency,  he  ruins  himself  to  escape  embarrass- 
ment. They  tell  me  here  that  the  shock  has  completely 
deranged  his  intellect,  and  that  he  lives  a  life  of  melancholy 
isolation  in  that  old  castle  in  Ireland. 

"  How  few  men  in  this  world  can  count  the  cost  of 
their  actions,  and  make  up  that  simple  calculation,  'How 
much  shall  I  have  to  pay  for  it?' 

"  Take  any  view  one  pleases  of  the  case,  would  it  not 
have  been  better  for  him  to  have  remained  in  the  world 
and  of  it?  Would  not  its  pleasures,  even  its  cares,  have 
proved  better  '  distractions  '  than  his  own  brooding  thoughts? 
If  a  man  have  a  secret  ailment,  does  he  parade  it  in  public? 
Why,  then,  this  exposure  of  a  pain  for  which  there  is  no 
sympathy  ? 

"  Life,  after  all,  is  only  a  system  of  compensations.  Wish 
it  to  be  whatever  you  please,  but  accept  it  as  it  really  is,  and 
make  the  best  of  it!     For  my  own  part,  I  have  ever  felt 


THE  SUBTLETIES  OF  STATECRAFT.       349 

like  one  who,  having  got  a  most  disastrous  account  of  a 
road  he  was  about  to  travel,  is  delightfully  surprised  to  find 
the  way  better  and  the  inns  more  comfortable  than  he  looked 
for.  In  the  main,  men  and  women  are  very  good;  our 
mistake  is,  expecting  to  find  people  always  in  our  own 
humor.  Now,  if  one  is  very  rich,  this  is  practical  enough ; 
but  the  mass  must  be  content  to  encounter  disparity  of 
mood  and  difference  of  taste  at  every  step.  There  is,  there- 
fore, some  tact  required  in  conforming  to  these  '  irregulari- 
ties,' and  unhappily  everybody  has  not  got  tact. 

"  You,  charming  Princess,  have  tact ;  but  you  have  beauty, 
wit,  fascination,  rank,  —  all  that  can  grace  high  station, 
and  all  that  high  station  can  reflect  upon  great  natural  gifts ; 
that  you  should  see  the  world  through  a  rose-tinted  medium 
is  a  very  condition  of  your  identity ;  and  there  is  truth,  as 
well  as  good  philosophy,  in  this  view!  You  have  often 
told  me  that  if  people  were  not  exactly  all  that  strict  mora- 
lists might  wish,  yet  that  they  made  up  a  society  very  plea- 
sant and  livable  withal,  and  that  there  was  also  a  floating 
capital  of  kindness  and  good  feeling  quite  sufficient  to  trade 
upon,  and  even  grow  richer  by  negotiating ! 

''People  -who  live  out  of  the  world,  or,  what  comes  to 
the  same  thing,  in  a  little  world  of  their  own,  are  ever  crav- 
ing after  perfectibility,  —  just  as,  in  time  of  peace,  nations 
only  accept  in  their  armies  six-foot  grenadiers  and  gigantic 
dragoons.  Let  the  pressure  of  war  or  emergency  arise, 
however,  or,  in  other  words,  let  there  be  the  real  business  of 
life  to  be  done,  then  the  standard  is  lowered  at  once,  and  the 
battle  is  sought  and  won  by  very  inferior  agency.  Now, 
show  troops  and  show  qualities  are  very  much  alike ;  they 
are  a  measure  of  what  would  be  very  charming  to  arrive  at, 
were  it  only  praticable !  Oh  that  poor  Glencore  had  only 
learned  this  lesson,  instead  of  writing  nonsense  verses  at 
Eton ! 

"The  murky  domesticities  of  England  have  no  correla- 
tives in  the  sunny  enjoyments  of  Italian  life;  and  John 
Bull  has  got  a  fancy  that  virtue  is  only  cultivated  where 
there  are  coal  fires,  stuff  curtains,  and  a  window  tax.  Why, 
then,  in  the  name  of  Doctors'  Commons,  does  he  marry  a 
foreigner  ?  " 


350        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

Just  as  Upton  had  written  these  words,  his  servant  pre- 
sented him  with  a  visiting-card. 

"Lord  Glencore!'*  exclaimed  he,  aloud.  ''When  was 
he  here?" 

"  His  Lordship  is  below  stairs  now,  sir.  He  said  he  was 
sure  you'd  see  him." 

"  Of  course  ;  show  him  up  at  once.  Wait  a  moment ;  give 
me  that  cane,  place  those  cushions  for  my  feet,  draw  the  cur- 
tain, and  leave  the  aconite  and  ether  drops  near  me,  —  that 
will  do,  thank  you." 

Some  minutes  elapsed  ere  the  door  was  opened ;  the  slow 
footfall  of  one  ascending  the  stairs,  step  by  step,  was  heard, 
accompanied  by  the  labored  respiration  of  a  man  breathing 
heavily ;  and  then  Lord  G-lencore  entered,  his  form  worn  and 
emaciated,  and  his  face  pale  and  colorless.  With  a  feeble, 
uncertain  voice,  he  said,  — 

"  I  knew  you  'd  see  me,  Upton,  and  I  would  n't  go  away !  '* 
And  with  this  he  sank  into  a  chair  and  sighed  deeply. 

"Of  course,  my  dear  Glencore,  you  knew  it,"  said  the 
other,  feelingly,  for  he  was  shocked  by  the  wretched  spec- 
tacle before  him ;  ' '  even  were  I  more  seriously  indisposed 
than  —  " 

"And  were  you  really  ill,  Upton?"  asked  Glencore,  with 
a  weakly  smile. 

"Can  you  ask  the  question?  Have  you  not  seen  the 
evening  papers,  read  the  announcement  on  my  door,  seen 
the  troops  of  inquirers  in  the  streets?" 

"Yes,"  sighed  he,  wearily,  "I  have  heard  and  seen  all 
you  say ;  and  yet  I  bethought  me  of  a  remark  I  once  heard 
from  the  Duke  of  Orleans :  '  Monsieur  Upton  is  a  most 
active  minister  when  his  health  permits ;  and  when  it  does 
not,  he  is  the  most  mischievous  intriguant  in  Europe.'  " 

"He  was  always  straining  at  an  antithesis;  he  fancied 
he  could  talk  like  St.  Simon,  and  it  really  spoiled  a  very 
pleasant  converser." 

"  And  so  you  have  been  very  ill?"  said  Glencore,  slowly, 
and  as  though  he  had  not  heeded  the  last  remark ;  "  so  have 
I  also ! " 

"  You  seem  to  me  too  feeble  to  be  about,  Glencore,"  said 
Upton,  kindly. 


THE  SUBTLETIES  OF  STATECRAFT.  351 

"  I  am  so,  if  it  were  of  any  consequence,  —  I  mean,  if  my 
life  could  interest  or  benefit  any  one.  My  head,  however, 
will  bear  solitude  no  longer ;  I  must  have  some  one  to  talk 
to.     I  mean  to  travel ;  I  will  leave  this  in  a  day  or  so." 

"Come  along  with  me,  then;  my  plan  is  to  make  for 
Brussefs,  but  it  must  not  be  spoken  of,  as  I  want  to  watch 
events  there  before  I  remove  farther  from  England." 

"So  it  is  all  true,  then, — you  have  resigned?"  said 
Glencore. 

"  Perfectly  true." 

"  What  a  strange  step  to  take !  I  remember,  more  than 
twenty  years  ago,  your  telling  me  that  you'd  rather  be 
Foreign  Secretary  of  England  than  the  monarch  of  any 
third-rate  Continental  kingdom." 

"I  thought  so  then,  and,  what  is  more  singular,  I  think 
so  still." 

"And  you  throw  it  up  at  the  very  moment  people  are 
proclaiming  your  success !  " 

"You  shall  hear  all  my  reasons,  Glencore,  for  this  reso- 
lution, and  will,  I  feel  assured,  approve  of  them ;  but  they  'd 
only  weary  you  now." 

* '  Let  me  know  them  now,  Upton ;  it  is  such  a  relief  to  me 
when,  even  by  a  momentary  interest  in  anything,  I  am  able 
to  withdraw  this  poor  tired  brain  from  its  own  distressing 
thoughts."  He  spoke  these  words  not  only  with  strong 
feeling,  but  even  imparted  to  them  a  tone  of  entreaty,  so 
that  Upton  could  not  but  comply. 

"When  I  wished  for  the  Secretaryship,  my  dear  Glen- 
core," said  he,  "I  fancied  the  office  as  it  used  to  be  in  olden 
times,  when  one  played  the  great  game  of  diplomacy  with 
kings  and  ministers  for  antagonists,  and  the  world  at  large 
for  spectators ;  when  consummate  skill  and  perfect  secrecy 
were  objects  of  moment,  and  when  grand  combinations 
rewarded  one's  labor  with  all  the  certainty  of  a  mathematical 
problem.  Every  move  on  the  board  could  be  calculated 
beforehand,  no  disturbing  influences  could  derange  plans 
that  never  were  divulged  till  they  were  accomplished.  All 
that  is  past  and  gone ;  our  Constitution,  grown  every  day 
more  and  more  democratic,  rules  by  the  House  of  Commons. 
Questions  whose  treatment  demands  all  the  skill  of  a  states- 


352        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

man  and  all  the  address  of  a  man  of  the  world  come  to  be 
discussed  in  open  Parliament ;  correspondence  is  called  for, 
despatches  and  even  private  notes  are  produced ;  and  while 
the  State  you  are  opposed  to  revels  in  the  security  of  secrecy, 
your  whole  game  is  revealed  to  the  world  in  the  shape  of  a 
blue-book. 

' '  Nor  is  this  all :  the  debaters  on  these  nice  and  intricate 
questions,  involving  the  most  far-reaching  speculation  of 
statesmanship,  are  men  of  trade  and  enterprise,  who  view 
every  international  difficulty  only  in  its  relation  to  their 
peculiar  interests.  National  greatness,  honor,  and  security 
are  nothing,  —  the  maintenance  of  that  equipoise  which 
preserves  peace  is  nothing,  —  the  nice  management  which, 
by  the  exhibition  of  courtesy  here,  or  of  force  there,  is 
nothing  compared  to  alliances  that  secure  us  ample  supplies 
of  raw  material,  and  abundant  markets  for  manufactures. 
Diplomacy  has  come  to   this !  " 

"  But  you  must  have  known  all  this  before  you  accepted 
office ;  you  had  seen  where  the  course  of  events  led  to,  and 
were  aware  that  the  House  ruled  the  country." 

"Perhaps  I  did  not  recognize  the  fact  to  its  full  extent. 
Perhaps  I  fancied  I  could  succeed  in  modifying  the  system," 
said  Upton,  cautiously. 

"  A  hopeless  undertaking !  "  said  Glencore. 

''I'm  not  quite  so  certain  of  that,"  said  Upton,  pausing 
for  a  while  as  he  seemed  to  reflect.  When  he  resumed,  it 
was  in  a  lighter  and  more  flippant  tone :  *'  To  make  short  of 
it,  I  saw  that  I  could  not  keep  office  on  these  conditions, 
but  I  did  not  choose  to  go  out  as  a  beaten  man.  For  my 
pride's  sake  I  desired  that  my  reasons  should  be  reserved 
for  myself  alone;  for  my  actual  benefit  it  was  necessary 
that  I  should  have  a  hold  over  my  colleagues  in  office. 
These  two  conditions  were  rather  difficult  to  combine,  but 
I  accomplished  them. 

''  I  had  interested  the  King  so  much  in  my  views  as  to 
what  the  Foreign  Office  ought  to  be  that  an  interchange  of 
letters  took  place,  and  his  Majesty  imparted  to  me  his  fullest 
confidence  in  disparagement  of  the  present  system.  This 
correspondence  was  a  perfect  secret  to  the  whole  Cabinet ; 
but  when  it  had  arrived  at  a  most  confidential  crisis,  I  sug- 


THE  SUBTLETIES  OF  STATECRAFT.       353 

gested  to  the  King  that  Cloudeslie  should  be  consulted.  I 
knew  well  that  this  would  set  the  match  to  the  train.  No 
sooner  did  Cloudeslie  learn  that  such  a  correspondence  had 
been  carried  on  for  months  without  his  knowledge,  views 
stated,  plans  promulgated,  and  the  King's  pleasure  taken  on 
questions  not  one  of  which  should  have  been  broached  with- 
out his  approval  and  concurrence,  than  he  declared  he  would 
not  hold  the  seals  of  office  another  hour.  The  King,  well 
knowing  his  temper,  and  aware  what  a  terrific  exposure 
might  come  of  it,  sent  for  me,  and  asked  what  was  to  be 
done.  I  immediately  suggested  my  own  resignation  as  a 
sacrifice  to  the  difficulty  and  to  the  wounded  feelings  of  the 
Duke.  Thus  did  I  achieve  what  I  sought  for.  I  imposed  a 
heavy  obligation  on  the  King  and  the  Premier,  and  I  have 
secured  secrecy  as  to  my  motives,  which  none  will  ever 
betray. 

"  I  only  remained  for  the  debate  of  the  other  night,  for 
I  wanted  a  little  public  enthusiasm  to  mark  the  fall  of  the 
curtain." 

' '  So  that  you  still  hold  them  as  your  debtors  ?  "  asked 
Glencore. 

"  Without  doubt,  I  do ;  my  claim  is  a  heavy  one." 

"  And  what  would  satisfy  it?  " 

"  If  my  health  would  stand  England,"  said  Upton, 
leisurely,  "I'd  take  a  peerage;  but  as  this  murky  atmos- 
phere would  suffocate  me,  and  as  I  don't  care  for  the  latter 
without  the  political  privileges,  I  have  determined  to  have 
the  '  Garter.' " 

"The  Garter!  a  blue  ribbon!"  exclaimed  Glencore,  as 
though  the  insufferable  coolness  with  which  the  pretension 
was  announced  might  justify  any  show  of  astonishment. 

"Yes;  I  had  some  thoughts  of  India,  but  the  journey 
deters  me,  —  in  fact,  as  I  have  enough  to  live  on,  I  'd  rather 
devote  the  remainder  of  my  days  to  rest,  and  the  care  of 
this  shattered  constitution."  It  is  impossible  to  convey 
to  the  reader  the  tender  and  affectionate  compassion  with 
which  Sir  Horace  seemed  to  address  these  last  words  to 
himself. 

"  Do  you  ever  look  upon  yourself  as  the  luckiest  fellow  in 
Europe,  Upton  ?  "  asked  Glencore. 

23 


354        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 


(( 


No,"  sighed  he;  *' I  occasionally  fancy  I  have  been 
hardly  dealt  with  by  fortune.  I  have  only  to  throw  my  eyes 
around  me,  and  see  a  score  of  men,  richer  and  more  elevated 
than  myself,  not  one  of  whom  has  capacity  for  even  a  third- 
rate  task,  so  that  really  the  self-congratulation  you  speak  of 
has  not  occurred  to  me." 

"  But,  after  all,  you  have  had  a  most  successful 
career  —  " 

*'  Look  at  the  matter  this  way,  Glencore;  there  are  about 
six  —  say  six  men  in  all  Europe  —  who  have  a  little  more 
common  sense  than  all  the  rest  of  the  world :  I  could  tell 
you  the  names  of  five  of  them."  If  there  was  a  supreme 
boastfulness  in  the  speech,  the  modest  delivery  of  it  com- 
pletely mystified  the  hearer,  and  he  sat  gazing  with  wonder- 
ment at  the  man  before  him. 


CHAPTER    XLV. 

SOME    SAD    REVERIES. 

"Have  you  any  plans,  Glencore?"  asked  Upton,  as  they 
posted  along  towards  Dover. 

*'  None,"  was  the  brief  reply. 

*' Nor  any  destination  you  desire  to  reach?" 

''  Just  as  little." 

''  Such  a  state  as  yours,  then,  I  take  it,  is  about  the  best 
thing  going  in  life.  Every  move  one  makes  is  attended 
with  so  many  adverse  considerations,  —  every  goal  so  sepa- 
rated from  us  by  unforeseen  difficulties,  —  that  an  existence, 
even  without  what  is  called  an  object,  has  certain  great 
advantages." 

*'I  am  curious  to  hear  them,"  said  the  other,  half 
cynically. 

"For  myself,"  said  Upton,  not  accepting  the  challenge, 
"  the  brief  intervals  of  comparative  happiness  I  have  en- 
joyed have  been  in  periods  when  complete  repose,  almost 
torpor,  has  surrounded  me,  and  when  the  mere  existence  of 
the  day  has  engaged  my  thoughts." 

"  What  became  of  memory  all  this  while?  " 

"  Memory  !  "  said  Upton,  laughing,  "  I  hold  my  memory 
in  proper  subjection.  It  no  more  dares  obtrude  upon  me 
uncalled  for  than  would  my  valet  come  into  my  room  till  I 
ring  for  him.  Of  the  slavery  men  endure  from  their  own 
faculties  I  have  no  experience." 

"  And,  of  course,  no  sympathy  for  them." 

"  I  will  not  say  that  I  cannot  compassionate  sufferings, 
though  I  have  not  felt  them." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  of  that?"  asked  Glencore,  almost 
sternly ;  "is  not  your  very  pity  a  kind  of  contemptuous 
sentiment  towards  those  who  sorrow  without  reason,  —  the 


356         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

strong  man's  estimate  of  the  weak  man's  sufferings?  Be- 
lieve me,  there  is  no  true  condolence  where  there  is  not  the 
same  experience  of  woe ! " 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  lay  down  so  narrow  a  limit  to 
fellow-feeling,"  said  Upton. 

''  You  told  me  a  few  moments  back,"  said  Glencore, 
"that  your  memory  was  your  slave.  How,  then,  can  you 
feel  for  one  like  me,  whose  memory  is  his  master?  How 
understand  a  path  that  never  wanders  out  of  the  shadow  of 
the  past  ?  " 

There  was  such  an  accent  of  sorrow  impressed  upon  these 
words  that  Upton  did  not  desire  to  prolong  a  discussion  so 
painful ;  and  thus,  for  the  remainder  of  the  way,  little  was 
interchanged  between  them.  They  crossed  the  strait  by 
night,  and  as  Upton  stole  upon  deck  after  dusk,  he  found 
Glencore  seated  near  the  wheel,  gazing  intently  at  the  lights 
on  shore,  from  which  they  were  fast  receding. 

"  I  am  taking  my  last  look  at  England,  Upton,"  said  he, 
affecting  a  tone  of  easy  indifference. 

"  You  surely  mean  to  go  back  again  one  of  these  days?  " 
said  Upton. 

"  Never,  never !  "  said  he,  solemnly.  "  I  have  made  all 
my  arrangements  for  the  future, — every  disposition/ regard- 
ing my  property;  I  have  neglected  nothing,  so  far  as  I 
know,  of  those  claims  which,  in  the  shape  of  relationship, 
the  world  has  such  reverence  for ;  and  now  I  bethink  me  of 
myself.  I  shall  have  to  consult  you,  however,  about  this 
boy,"  said  he,  faltering  in  the  words.  "The  objection  I 
once  entertained  to  his  bearing  my  name  exists  no  longer ; 
he  may  call  himself  Massy,  if  he  will.  The  chances  are,'* 
added  he,  in  a  lower  and  more  feeling  voice,  "  that  he  re- 
jects a  name  that  will  only  remind  him  of  a  wrong !  " 

"  My  dear  Glencore,"  said  Upton,  with  real  tenderness, 
"  do  I  apprehend  you  aright?  Are  you  at  last  convinced 
that  you  have  been  unjust?  Has  the  moment  come  in  which 
your  better  judgment  rises  above  the  evil  counsels  of  preju- 
dice and  passion  —  " 

"Do  you  mean,  am  I  assured  of  her  innocence?"  broke 
in  Glencore,  wildly.  "  Do  you  imagine,  if  I  were  so,  that  I 
could  withhold  my  hand  from  taking  a  life  so  infamous  and 


SOME   SAD  KEVERIES.  357 

dishonored  as  mine  ?  The  world  would  have  no  parallel  for 
such  a  wretch !  Mark  me,  Upton ! "  cried  he,  fiercely, 
"  there  is  no  torture  I  have  yet  endured  would  equal  the 
bare  possibility  of  what  you  hint  at." 

"  Good  Heavens!  Glencore,  do  not  let  me  suppose  that 
selfishness  has  so  marred  and  disfigured  your  nature  that 
this  is  true.  Bethink  you  of  what  you  say.  "Would  it  not 
be  the  crowning  glory  of  your  life  to  repair  a  dreadful 
wrong,  and  acknowledge  before  the  world  that  the  fame  you 
had  aspersed  was  without  stain  or  spot?  " 

"  And  with  what  grace  should  I  ask  the  world  to  believe 
me  ?  Is  it  when  expiating  the  shame  of  a  falsehood  that  I 
should  call  upon  men  to  accept  me  as  truthful?  Have  I  not 
proclaimed  her,  from  one  end  of  Europe  to  the  other,  dis- 
honored?    If  she  be  absolved,  what  becomes  of  me  ?  *' 

"This  is  unworthy  of  you,  Glencore,"  said  Upton,  se- 
verely; "  nor,  if  illness  and  long  suffering  had  not  impaired 
your  judgment,  had  you  ever  spoken  such  words.  I  say 
once  more,  that  if  the  day  came  that  you  could  declare  to 
the  world  that  her  fame  had  no  other  reproach  than  the 
injustice  of  your  own  unfounded  jealousy,  that  day  would 
be  the  best  and  the  proudest  of  your  life." 

"The  proud  day  that  published  me  a  calumniator  of  all 
that  I  was  most  pledged  to  defend,  —  the  deliberate  liar 
against  the  obligation  of  the  holiest  of  all  contracts !  You 
forget,  Upton,  —  but  I  do  not  forget,  —  that  it  was  by  this 
very  argument  you  once  tried  to  dissuade  me  from  my  act 
of  vengeance.  You  told  me  —  ay,  in  words  that  still  ring 
in  my  ears  —  to  remember  that  if  by  any  accident  or  chance 
her  innocence  might  be  proven,  I  could  never  avail  myself 
of  the  indication  without  first  declaring  my  own  unworthi- 
ness  to  profit  by  it ;  that  if  the  Wife  stood  forth  in  all  the 
pride  of  purity,  the  Husband  would  be  a  scoff  and  a  shame 
throughout  the  world !  " 

"  When  I  said  so,"  said  Upton,  "  it  was  to  turn  you  from 
a  path  that  could  not  but  lead  to  ruin  ;  I  endeavored  to  deter 
you  by  an  appeal  that  interested  even  your  selfishness." 

"Your  subtlety  has  outwitted  itself,  Upton,"  said  Glen- 
core, with  a  bitter  irony ;  "  it  is  not  the  first  instance  on 
record  where  blank  cartridge  has  proved  fatal ! " 


358        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"One  thing  is  perfectly  clear,"  said  Upton,  boldly,  'Hhe 
man  who  shi-inks  from  the  repair  of  a  wrong  he  has  done, 
on  the  consideration  of  how  it  would  affect  himself  and  his 
own  interests,  shows  that  he  cares  more  for  the  outward 
show  of  honor  than  its  real  and  sustaining  power." 

"And  will  you  tell  me,  Upton,  that  the  world's  estimate 
of  a  man's  fame  is  not  essential  to  his  self-esteem,  or  that 
there  yet  lived  one  who  would  brave  obloquy  without,  by 
the  force  of  something  within  him  ?  " 

"This  I  will  tell  you,"  replied  Upton,  "that  he  who 
balances  between  the  two  is  scarcely  an  honest  man,  and 
that  he  who  accepts  the  show  for  the  substance  is  not  a 
wise  one." 

"  These  are  marvellous  sentiments  to  hear  from  one  whose 
craft  has  risen  to  a  proverb,  and  whose  address  in  life  is 
believed  to  be  not  his  meanest  gift." 

' '  I  accept  the  irony  in  all  good  humor ;  I  go  farther, 
Glencore,  I  stoop  to  explain.  When  any  one  in  the  great 
and  eventful  journey  of  life  seeks  to  guide  himself  safely, 
he  has  to  weigh  all  the  considerations,  and  calculate  all  the 
combinations  adverse  to  him.  The  straight  road  is  rarely, 
or  never,  possible;  even  if  events  were,  which  they  are 
not,  easy  to  read,  they  must  be  taken  in  combination  with 
others,  and  with  their  consequences.  The  path  of  action 
becomes  necessarily  devious  and  winding,  and  compromises 
are  called  for  at  every  step.  It  is  not  in  the  moment  of 
shipwreck  that  a  man  stops  to  inquire  into  petty  details 
of  the  articles  he  throws  into  a  long-boat;  he  is  bent  on 
saving  himself  as  best  he  can.  He  seizes  what  is  next  to 
him,  if  it  suit  his  purpose.  Now,  were  he  to  act  in  this 
manner  in  all  the  quiet  security  of  his  life  on  shore,  his 
conduct  would  be  highly  blamable.  No  emergency  would 
warrant  his  taking  what  belonged  to  another,  —  no  critical 
moment  would  drive  him  to  the  instinct  of  self-preservation. 
Just  the  same  is  the  interval  between  action  and  reflection. 
Give  me  time  and  forethought,  and  I  will  employ  something 
better  and  higher  than  craft.  My  subtlety,  as  you  like  to 
call  it,  is  not  my  best  weapon ;  I  only  use  it  in  emergency.'* 

"I  read  the  matter  differently,"  said  Glencore,  sulkily; 
"  I  could,  perhaps,  offer  another  explanation  of  your 
practice." 


SOME   SAD  REVERIES.  359 

"Pray  let  me  hear  it;  we  are  all  in  confidence  here,  and 
I  promise  you  I  will  not  take  badly  whatever  you  say  to 
me." 

Glencore  sat  silent  and  motionless. 

"Come,  shall  I  say  it  for  you,  Glencore?  for  I  think  I 
know  what  is  passing  in  your  mind." 

The  other  nodded,  and  he  went  on,  — 

"  You  would  tell  me,  in  plain  words,  that  I  keep  my  craft 
for  myself ;  my  high  principle  for  my  friends." 

Glencore  only  smiled,  but  Upton  continued,  — 

"So,  then,  I  have  guessed  aright;  and  the  very  worst 
you  can  allege  against  this  course  is,  that  what  I  bestow  is 
better  than  what  I  retain !  " 

"One  of  Solomon's  proverbs  may  be  better  than  a 
shilling;  but  which  would  a  hungry  man  rather  have?  I 
want  no  word-fencing,  Upton;  still  less  do  I  seek  what 
might  sow  distrust  between  us.  This  much,  however,  has 
life  taught  me :  the  great  trials  of  this  world  are  like  its 
great  maladies.  Providence  has  meant  them  to  be  fatal. 
We  call  in  the  doctor  in  the  one  case,  or  the  counsellor  in  the 
other,  out  of  habit  rather  than  out  of  hope.  Our  own  con- 
sciousness has  already  whispered  that  nothing  can  be  of  use ; 
but  we  like  to  do  as  our  neighbors,  and  so  we  take  remedies 
and  follow  injunctions  to  the  last.  The  wise  man  quickly 
detects  by  the  character  of  the  means  how  emergent  is  the 
case  believed  to  be,  and  rightly  judges  that  recourse  to 
violent  measures  implies  the  presence  of  great  peril.  If  he 
be  really  wise,  then  he  desists  at  once  from  what  can  only 
torture  his  few  remaining  hours.  They  can  be  given  to 
better  things  than  the  agonies  of  such  agency.  To  this 
exact  point  has  my  case  come,  and  by  the  counsels  you  have 
given  me  do  I  read  my  danger !  Your  only  remedy  is  as 
bad  as  the  malady  it  is  meant  to  cure !     I  cannot  take  it !  " 

"  Accepting  your  own  imagery,  I  would  say,"  said  Upton, 
"  that  you  are  one  who  will  not  submit  to  an  operation  of 
some  pain  that  he  might  be  cured." 

Glencore  sat  moodily  for  some  moments  without  speaking ; 
at  last  he  said,  — 

"  I  feel  as  though  continual  change  of  place  and  scene 
would   be  a  relief  to  me.     Let  us   rendezvous,  therefore, 


360  THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

somewhere  for  the  autumn,  and  meanwhile  I  '11  wander  about 
alone." 

''  What  direction  do  you  purpose  to  take?  " 

' '  The  Schwarzwald  and  the  Hohlenthal,  first.  I  want 
to  revisit  a  place  I  knew  in  happier  days.  Memory  must 
surely  have  something  besides  sorrows  to  render  us.  I 
owned  a  little  cottage  there  once,  near  Steig.  I  fished  and 
read  Uhland  for  a  summer  long.  I  wonder  if  I  could  resume 
the  same  life.  I  knew  the  whole  village,  —  the  blacksmith, 
the  schoolmaster,  the  Dorfrichter,  —  all  of  them.  Good, 
kind  souls  they  were :  how  they  wept  when  we  parted ! 
Nothing  consoled  them  but  my  having  purchased  the  cottage, 
and  promised  to  come  back  again !  " 

Upton  was  glad  to  accept  even  this  much  of  interest  in 
the  events  of  life,  and  drew  Glencore  on  to  talk  of  the  days 
he  had  passed  in  this  solitary  region. 

As  in  the  dreariest  landscape  a  ray  of  sunlight  will  reveal 
some  beautiful  effects,  making  the  eddies  of  the  dark  pool  to 
glitter,  lighting  up  the  russet  moss,  and  giving  to  the  half- 
dried  lichen  a  tinge  of  bright  color,  so  will,  occasionally, 
memory  throw  over  a  life  of  sorrow  a  gleam  of  happier 
meaning.  Faces  and  events,  forms  and  accents,  that  once 
found  the  way  to  our  hearts,  come  back  again,  faintly  and 
imperfectly  it  may  be,  but  with  a  touch  that  revives  in  us 
what  we  once  were.  It  is  the  one  sole  feature  in  which  self- 
love  becomes  amiable,  when,  looking  back  on  our  past,  we 
cherish  the  thought  of  a  time  before  the  world  had  made  us 
sceptical  and  hard-hearted ! 

Glencore  warmed  as  he  told  of  that  tranquil  period  when 
poetry  gave  a  color  to  his  life,  and  the  wild  conceptions  of 
genius  ran  like  a  thread  of  gold  through  the  whole  web  of 
existence.  He  quoted  passages  that  had  struck  him  for  their 
beauty  or  their  truthfulness ;  he  told,  how  he  had  tried  to 
allure  his  own  mind  to  the  tone  that  vibrated  in  "  the  magic 
music  of  verse,"  and  how  the  very  attempt  had  inspired  him 
with  gentler  thoughts,  a  softer  charity,  and  a  more  tender 
benevolence  towards  his  fellows. 

"  Tieck  is  right,  Upton,  when  he  says  there  are  two 
natures  in  us,  distinct  and  apart :  one,  the  imaginative  and 
ideal ;  the  other,  the  actual  and  the  sensual.     Many  shake 


SOME  SAD  REVERIES.  361 

them  together  and  confound  them,  making  of  the  incon- 
gruous mixture  that  vile  compound  of  inconsistency  where  the 
beautiful  and  the  true  are  ever  warring  with  the  deformed 
and  the  false ;  their  lives  a  long  struggle  with  themselves,  a 
perpetual  contest  between  high  hope  and  base  enjoyment. 
A  few  keep  them  apart,  retaining,  through  their  worldliness, 
some  hallowed  spot  in  the  heart,  where  ignoble  desires  and 
mean  aspii-ations  have  never  dared  to  come.  A  fewer  still 
have  made  the  active  work  of  life  subordinate  to  the  guiding- 
spirit  of  purity,  adventuring  on  no  road  unsanctioned  by 
high  and  holy  thoughts,  caring  for  no  ambitions  but  such  as 
make  us  nobler  and  better. 

*'I  once  had  a  thought  of  such  a  life;  and  even  the 
memory  of  it,  like  the  prayers  we  have  learned  in  om-  child- 
hood, has  a  hallowing  influence  over  after  years.  If  that 
poor  boy,  Upton,"  and  his  lips  trembled  on  the  words,  —  ''if 
that  poor  boy  could  have  been  brought  up  thus  humbly !  If 
he  had  been  taught  to  know  no  more  than  an  existence  of 
such  simplicity  called  for,  what  a  load  of  care  might  it  have 
spared  his  heart  and  mine  !  " 

"  You  have  read  over  those  letters  I  gave  you  about 
him?"  asked  Upton,  who  eagerly  availed  himself  of  the 
opportunity  to  approach  an  almost  forbidden  theme. 

"  I  have  read  them  over  and  over,"  said  Glencore,  sadly; 
"  in  all  the  mention  of  him  I  read  the  faults  of  my  own 
nature,  —  a  stubborn  spirit  of  pride  that  hardens  as  much 
as  elevates ;  a  resentful  temper,  too  prone  to  give  way  to  its 
own  impulses ;  an  over-confidence  in  himself,  too,  always 
ready  to  revenge  its  defeats  on  the  world  about  him.  These 
are  his  defects,  and  they  are  mine.  Poor  fellow,  that  he 
should  inherit  all  that  I  have  of  bad,  and  yet  not  be  heir  to 
the  accidents  of  fortune  which  make  others  so  lenient  to 
faults !  " 

If  Upton  heard  these  words  with  much  interest,  no  less 
was  he  struck  by  the  fact  that  Glencore  made  no  inquiry 
whatever  as  to  the  youth's  fate.  The  last  letter  of  the 
packet  revealed  the  story  of  an  eventful  duel  and  the  boy's 
escape  from  Massa  by  night,  with  his  subsequent  arrest  by 
the  police ;  and  yet  in  the  face  of  incidents  like  these  he 
continued  to  speculate  on  traits  of  mind  and  character,  nor 


362        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

even  adverted  to  the  more  closely  touching  events  of  his 
fate.  By  many  an  artful  hint  and  ingenious  device  did  Sir 
Horace  try  to  tempt  him  to  some  show  of  curiosity ;  but  all 
were  fruitless.  Glencore  would  talk  freely  and  willingly  of 
the  boy's  disposition  and  his  capacity ;  he  would  even  specu- 
late on  the  successes  and  failures  such  a  temperament  might 
meet  with  in  life ;  but  still  he  spoke  as  men  might  speak  of  a 
character  in  a  fiction,  ingeniously  weighing  casualties  and 
discussing  chances ;  never,  even  by  accident,  approaching 
the  actual  story  of  his  life,  or  seeming  to  attach  any  interest 
to  his  destiny. 

Upton's  shrewd  intelligence  quickly  told  him  that  this 
reserve  was  not  accidental ;  and  he  deliberated  within  him- 
self how  far  it  was  safe  to  invade  it. 

At  length  he  resumed  the  attempt  by  adroitly  alluding  to 
the  spirited  resistance  the  boy  had  made  to  his  capture,  and 
the  consequences  one  might  naturally  enough  ascribe  to  a 
proud  and  high-hearted  youth  thus  tyrannically  punished. 

"I  have  heard  something,"  said  Upton,  "of  the  sever- 
ities practised  at  Kufif stein,  and  they  recall  the  horrible 
tales  of  the  Inquisition ;  the  terrible  contrivances  to  extort 
confessions,  —  expedients  that  often  break  down  the  intellect 
whose  secrets  they  would  discover;  so  that  one  actually 
shudders  at  the  name  of  a  spot  so  associated  with  evil." 

Glencore  placed  his  hands  over  his  face,  but  did  not  utter 
a  word ;  and  again  Upton  went  on  urging,  by  every  device 
he  could  think  of,  some  indication  that  might  mean  interest, 
if  not  anxiety,  when  suddenly  he  felt  Glencore's  hand  grasp 
his  arm  with  violence. 

"No  more  of  this,  Upton,"  cried  he,  sternly;  "  you  do 
not  know  the  torture  you  are  giving  me."  There  was  a  long 
and  painful  pause  between  them,  at  the  end  of  which  Glen- 
core spoke,  but  it  was  in  a  voice  scarcely  above  a  whisper, 
and  every  accent  of  which  trembled  with  emotion.  "You 
remember  one  sad  and  memorable  night,  Upton,  in  that  old 
castle  in  Ireland,  —  the  night  when  I  came  to  the  resolution 
of  this  vengeance !  I  sent  for  the  boy  to  my  room ;  we 
were  alone  there  together,  face  to  face.  It  was  such  a  scene 
as  could  brook  no  witness,  nor  dare  I  now  recall  its  details 
as  they  occurred.     He  came  in  frankly  and  boldly,  as  he 


SOME    SAD  REVERIES.  363 

felt  he  had  a  right  to  do.  How  he  left  that  room,  —  cowed, 
abashed,  and  degraded,  — I  have  yet  before  me.  Om*  meet- 
ing did  not  exceed  many  minutes  in  duration;  neither  of 
us  could  have  endured  it  longer.  Brief  as  it  was,  we  rati- 
fied a  compact  between  us :  it  was  this,  —  neither  was  ever 
to  question  or  inquire  after  the  other,  as  no  tie  should  unite, 
no  interest  should  bind  us.  Had  you  seen  him  then, 
Upton,"  cried  Glencore,  wildly,  "  the  proud  disdain  with 
which  he  listened  to  my  attempts  at  excuse,  the  haughty 
distance  with  which  he  seemed  to  reject  every  thought  of 
complaint,  the  stern  coldness  with  which  he  heard  me  plan 
out  his  future,  —  you  would  have  said  that  some  curse  had 
fallen  upon  my  heart,  or  it  could  never  have  been  dead  to 
traits  which  proclaimed  him  to  be  my  own.  In  that  moment 
it  was  my  lot  to  be  like  him  who  held  out  his  own  right 
hand  to  be  first  burned,  ere  he  gave  his  body  to  the  flames. 

"We  parted  without  an  embrace;  not  even  a  farewell 
was  spoken  between  us.  While  I  gloried  in  his  pride,  had 
he  but  yielded  ever  so  little,  had  one  syllable  of  weakness, 
one  tear  escaped  him,  I  had  given  up  my  project,  reversed 
all  my  planned  vengeance,  and  taken  him  to  my  heart  as 
my  own.  But  no!  He  was  resolved  on  proving  by  his 
nature  that  he  was  of  that  stern  race  from  which,  by  a 
falsehood,  I  was  about  to  exclude  him.  It  was  as  though 
my  own  blood  hurled  a  proud  defiance  to  me. 

"As  he  walked  slowly  to  the  door,  his  glove  fell  from  his 
hand.  I  stealthily  caught  it  up.  I  wanted  to  keep  it  as  a 
memorial  of  that  bitter  hour ;  but  he  turned  hastily  around 
and  plucked  it  from  my  hand.  The  action  was  even  a  rude 
one ;  and  with  a  mocking  smile,  as  though  he  read  my 
meaning  and  despised  it,  he  departed. 

"  You  now  have  heard  the  last  secret  of  my  heart  in  this 
sad  history.  Let  us  speak  of  it  no  more."  And  with  this, 
Glencore  arose  and  left  the  deck. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

THE    FLOOD    IN    THE    MAGRA. 

When  it  rains  in  Italy  it  does  so  with  a  passionate  ardor 
that  bespeaks  an  unusual  pleasure.  It  is  no  ''  soft  dissolving 
in  tears,"  but  a  perfect  outburst  of  woe,  — wailing  in  accents 
the  very  wildest,  and  deluging  the  land  in  torrents.  Moun- 
tain streams  that  were  rivulets  in  the  morning,  before  noon 
arrives  are  great  rivers,  swollen  and  turbid,  carrying  away 
massive  rocks  from  their  foundations,  and  tearing  up  large 
trees  by  the  roots.  The  dried-up  stony  bed  you  have  crossed 
a  couple  of  hours  back  with  unwetted  feet  is  now  the  course 
of  a  stream  that  would  defy  the  boldest. 

These  sudden  changes  are  remarkably  frequent  along 
that  beautiful  tract  between  Nice  and  Massa,  and  which  is 
known  as  the  "  Riviera  di  Levante."  The  rivers,  fed  from 
innumerable  streams  that  pour  down  from  the  Apennines, 
are  almost  instantaneously  swollen ;  and  as  their  bed  con- 
tinually slopes  towards  the  sea,  the  course  of  the  waters  is 
one  of  headlong  velocity.  Of  these,  the  most  dangerous  by 
far  is  the  Magra.  The  river,  which  even  in  dry  seasons  is  a 
considerable  stream,  becomes,  when  fed  by  its  tributaries, 
a  very  formidable  body  of  water,  stretching  full  a  mile  in 
width,  and  occasionally  spreading  a  vast  sheet  of  foam  close 
to  the  very  outskirts  of  Sarzana.  The  passage  of  the  river 
is  all  the  more  dangerous  at  these  periods  as  it  approaches 
the  sea,  and  more  than  one  instance  is  recorded  where  the 
stout  raft,  devoted  to  the  use  of  travellers,  has  been  carried 
away  to  the  ocean. 

Where  the  great  post-road  from  Genoa  to  the  South 
passes,  a  miserable  shealing  stands,  half  hidden  in  tall 
osiers,  and  surrounded  with  a  sedgy,  swampy  soil  the  foot 


THE  FLOOD  IN  THE   MAGRA.  365 

sinks  in  at  every  step.  This  is  the  shelter  of  the  boatmen 
who  navigate  the  raft,  and  who,  in  relays  by  day  and  night, 
are  in  waiting  for  the  service  of  travellers.  In  the  dreary 
days  of  winter,  or  in  the  drearier  nights,  it  is  scarcely  pos- 
sible to  imagine  a  more  hopeless  spot ;  deep  in  the  midst  of 
a  low  marshy  tract,  the  especial  home  of  tertian  fever,  with 
the  wild  stream  roaring  at  the  very  door-sill,  and  the  thunder 
of  the  angry  ocean  near,  it  is  indeed  all  that  one  can  picture 
of  desolation  and  wretchedness.  Nor  do  the  living  features 
of  the  scene  relieve  its  gloomy  influence.  Though  strong 
men,  and  many  of  them  in  the  prime  of  life,  premature  age 
and  decay  seem  to  have  settled  down  upon  them.  Their 
lustreless  eyes  and  leaden  lips  tell  of  ague,  and  their  sad, 
thoughtful  faces  bespeak  those  who  are  often  called  upon  to 
meet  peril,  and  who  are  destined  to  lives  of  emergency  and 
hazard. 

It  was  in  the  low  and  miserable  hut  we  speak  of,  just  as 
night  set  in  of  a  raw  November,  that  four  of  these  rafts- 
men sat  at  their  smoky  fire,  in  company  with  two  travellers 
on  foot,  whose  humble  means  compelled  them  to  await  the 
arrival  of  some  one  rich  enough  to  hire  the  raft.  Meanly  clad 
and  wayworn  were  the  strangers  who  now  sat  endeavoring  to 
dry  their  dripping  clothes  at  the  blaze,  and  conversing  in  a 
low  tone  together.  If  the  elder,  dressed  in  a  russet-colored 
blouse  and  a  broad-leafed  hat,  his  face  almost  hid  in  beard 
and  moustaches,  seemed  by  his  short  and  almost  grotesque 
figure  a  travelling  showman,  the  appearance  of  the  younger, 
despite  all  the  poverty  of  his  dress,  implied  a  very  different 
class. 

He  was  tall  and  well  knit,  with  a  loose  activity  in  all 
his  gestures  which  almost  invariably  characterizes  the 
Englishman ;  and  though  his  dark  hair  and  his  bronzed 
cheek  gave  him  something  of  a  foreign  look,  there  was  a 
calm,  cold  self-possession  in  his  air  that  denoted  the  Anglo- 
Saxon.  He  sat  smoking  his  cigar,  his  head  resting  on  one 
hand,  and  evidently  listening  with  attention  to  the  words 
of  his  companion.  The  conversation  that  passed  will  save 
us  the  trouble  of  introducing  them  to  our  reader,  if  he  have 
not  already  guessed  them. 

"If  we    don't  wait,"   said   the  elder,    "till    somebody 


366        THE  FORTUNES  OE  GLENCORE. 

richer  and  better  off  than  ourselves  comes,  we  '11  have  to  pay 
seven  francs  for  passin'  in  such  a  night  as  this." 

*'  It  is  a  downright  robbery  to  ask  so  much,"  cried  the 
other,  angrily.  "  What  so  great  danger  is  there,  or  what 
so  great  hardship,  after  all?" 

"There  is  both  one  and  the  other,  I  believe,"  replied 
he,  in  a  tone  evidently  meant  to  moderate  his  passion; 
''  and  just  look  at  the  poor  craytures  that  has  to  do  it. 
They're  as  weak  as  a  bit  of  wet  paper;  they  haven't 
strength  to  make  themselves  heard  when  they  talk  out  there 
beside  the  river." 

'*The  fellow  yonder,"  said  the  youth,  "has  got  good 
brawny  arms  and  sinewy  legs  of  his  own." 

"  Ay,  and  he  is  starved  after  all.  A  cut  of  rye  bread  and 
an  onion  won't  keep  the  heart  up,  nor  a  jug  of  red  vine- 
gar, though  ye  call  it  grape-juice.  On  my  conscience,  I  'm 
thinkin'  that  the  only  people  that  preserves  their  strength 
upon  nothin'  is  the  Irish.  I  used  to  carry  the  bags  over 
Slieb-na-boregan  mountain  and  the  Turk's  Causeway  on  wet 
potatoes  and  buttermilk,  and  never  a  day  late  for  eleven 
years." 

"  What  a  life !  "  cried  the  youth,  in  an  accent  of  utter  pity. 

"  Faix,  it  was  an  elegant  life,  —  that  is,  when  the  weather 
was  anyways  good.  With  a  bright  sun  shin  in'  and  a  fine 
fresh  breeze  blowin'  the  white  clouds  away  over  the  Atlantic, 
my  road  was  a  right  cheery  one,  and  I  went  along  inventin' 
stories,  sometimes  fairy  tales,  sometimes  makin'  rhymes  to 
myself,  but  always  happy  and  contented.  There  wasn't 
a  bit  of  the  way  I  had  n't  a  name  for  in  my  own  mind, 
either  some  place  I  read  about,  or  some  scene  in  a  story  of 
my  own ;  but  better  than  all,  there  was  a  dog,  —  a  poor 
starved  lurcher  he  was, — with  a  bit  of  the  tail  cut  off;  he 
used  to  meet  me,  as  regular  as  the  clock,  on  the  side  of 
Currah-na-geelah,  and  come  beside  me  down  to  the  ford 
every  day  in  the  year.  No  temptation  nor  flattery  would 
bring  him  a  step  farther.  I  spent  three-quarters  of  an  hour 
once  trying  it,'  but  to  no  good ;  he  took  leave  of  me  on  the 
bank  of  the  river,  and  went  away  back  with  his  head  down, 
as  if  he  was  grievin'  over  something.  Was  n't  that  mighty 
curious  ?  " 


THE  FLOOD  IN  THE  MAGRA.  367 

"Perhaps,  like  ourselves,  Billy,  he  wasn't  quite  sure  of 
his  passport,"  said  the  other,  dryly. 

"Faix,  may  be  so,"  replied  he,  with  perfect  seriousness. 
''My  notion  was  that  he  was  a  kind  of  an  outlaw,  a  chap 
that  maybe  bit  a  child  of  the  family,  or  ate  a  lamb  of  a  flock 
given  him  to  guard.  But  indeed  his  general  appearance 
and  behavior  was  n't  like  that ;  he  had  good  manners,  and, 
starved  as  he  was,  he  never  snapped  the  bread  out  of  my 
fingers,  but  took  it  gently,  though  his  eyes  was  dartin'  out 
of  his  head  with  eagerness  all  the  while." 

"A  great  test  of  good  breeding,  truly,"  said  the  youth, 
sadly.  "It  must  be  more  than  a  mere  varnish  when  it 
stands  the  hard  rubs  of  life  in  this  wise." 

"'Tis  the  very  notion  occurred  to  myself.  It  was  the 
dhrop  of  good  blood  in  him  made  him  what  he  was." 

Stealthy  and  fleeting  as  was  the  look  that  accompanied 
these  words,  the  youth  saw  it,  and  blushed  to  the  very  top 
of  his  forehead.  "The  night  grows  milder,"  said  he,  to 
relieve  the  awkwardness  of  the  moment  by  any  remark. 

"It's  a  mighty  grand  sight  out  there  now,"  replied  the 
other ;  "  there 's  three  miles  if  there  's  an  inch  of  white  foam 
dashing  down  to  the  sea,  that  breaks  over  the  bar  with  a 
crash  like  thunder ;  big  trees  are  sweepin'  past,  and  pieces 
of  vine  trellises,  and  a  bit  of  a  mill-wheel,  all  carried  off 
just  like  twigs  on  a  stream." 

"Would  money  tempt  those  fellows,  I  wonder,  to  ven- 
ture out  on  such  a  night  as  this  ?  " 

"To  be  sure;  and  why  not?  The  daily  fight  poverty 
maintains  with  existence  dulls  the  sense  of  every  danger 
but  what  comes  of  want.  Don't  I  know  it  myself  ?  The  poor 
man  has  no  inimy  but  hunger ;  for,  ye  see,  the  other  vexa- 
tions and  troubles  of  life,  there 's  always  a  way  of  gettin' 
round  them.  You  can  chate  even  grief,  and  you  can  slip 
away  from  danger ;  but  there 's  no  circumventin'  an  empty 
stomach." 

"What  a  tyrant  is  then  your  rich  man!"  sighed  the 
youth,  heavily. 

"That  he  is.  'Dives  honoratus.  Pulcher  rex  denique 
regum.'  You  may  do  as  you  please  if  ye'r  rich  as  a 
Begum." 


368  THE  FORTUNES  OF   GLENCORE. 

"A  free  translation,  rather,  Billy,"  said  the  other, 
laughing. 

"  Or  ye  might  render  it  this  way,"  said  Billy,  — 
"  If  ye  've  money  enough  and  to  spare  in  the  bank, 
The  world  will  give  ye  both  beauty  and  rank. 

And  I've  nothing  to  say  agin  it,"  continued  he.  "  The  raal 
stimulus  to  industhry  in  life,  is  to  make  wealth  powerful. 
Gettin'  and  heapin'  up  money  for  money's  sake  is  a  debasin* 
kind  of  thing ;  but  makin'  a  fortune,  in  order  that  you  may 
extind  your  influence,  and  mowld  the  distinies  of  others,  — 
that's  grand." 

"And  see  what  comes  of  it!"  cried  the  youth,  bitterly. 
"Mark  the  base  and  unworthy  subserviency  it  leads  to; 
see  the  race  of  sycophants  it  begets." 

"  I  have  you  there,  too,"  cried  Billy,  with  all  the  exul- 
tation of  a  ready  debater.  "  Them  dirty  varmint  ye  speak 
of  is  the  very  test  of  the  truth  I  'm  tellin'  ye.  'T  is  because 
they  won't  labor  —  because  they  won't  work  —  that  they 
are  driven  to  acts  of  sycophancy  and  meanness.  The  spkit 
of  industhry  saves  a  man  even  the  excuse  of  doin'  anything 
low ! " 

"  And  how  often,  from  your  own  lips,  have  I  listened 
to  praises  at  your  poor  humble  condition;  rejoicings  that 
your  lot  in  life  secured  you  against  the  cares  of  wealth  and 
grandem- !  " 

"And  you  will  again,  plaze  God!  if  /live,  and  you  pre- 
sarve  your  hearin'.  What  would  I  be  if  I  was  rich,  but  an 
ould  —  an  ould  voluptuary  ?  "  said  Billy,  with  great  empha- 
sis on  a  word  he  had  some  trouble  in  discovering.  "  Atin' 
myself  sick  with  delicacies,  and  drinkin'  cordials  all  day 
long.  How  would  I  know  the  uses  of  wealth?  Like  all 
other  vulgar  creatures,  I  'd  be  buyin'  with  my  money  the 
respect  that  I  ought  to  be  buyin'  with  my  qualities.  It's 
the  very  same  thing  you  see  in  a  fair  or  a  market,  —  the 
country  girls  goin'  about,  hobbled  and  crippled  with  shoes 
on,  that,  if  they  had  bare  feet,  could  walk  as  straight  as  a 
rush.  Poverty  is  not  ungraceful  itself.  It 's  tryin'  to  be 
what  isn't  natural,  spoils  people  entirely." 

"I  think  I  hear  voices  without.  Listen!"  cried  the 
youth. 


THE  FLOOD  IN  THE  MAGRA.  369 

"It's  only  the  river ;  it's  risin'  every  minute." 

*'No,  that  was  a  shout.  I  heard  it  distinctly.  Ay,  the 
boatmen  hear  it  now  !  " 

"  It  is  a  travelling-carriage.  I  see  the  lamps,"  cried  one 
of  the  men,  as  he  stood  at  the  door  and  looked  landward. 
''They  may  as  well  keep  the  road;  there's  no  crossing 
the  Magra  to-night !  " 

By  this  time  the  postilions'  whips  commenced  that  chorus 
of  cracking  by  which  they  are  accustomed  to  announce  all 
arrivals  of  importance. 

"Tell  them  to  go  back,  Beppo,"  said  the  chief  of  the 
raftsmen  to  one  of  his  party.  "If  we  might  try  to  cross 
with  the  mail-bags  in  a  boat,  there 's  not  one  of  us  would 
attempt  the  passage  on  the  raft." 

To  judge  from  the  increased  noise  and  uproar,  the  trav- 
ellers' impatience  had  now  reached  its  highest  point ;  but  to 
this  a  slight  lull  succeeded,  probably  occasioned  by  the  par- 
ley with  the  boatman. 

"  They  '11  give  us  five  Napoleons  for  the  job,"  said  Beppo, 
entering,  and  addressing  his  chief. 

"  Fer  Dlo,  that  won't  support  our  families  if  we  leave 
them  fatherless,"  muttered  the  other.  "  Who  and  what  are 
they  that  can't  wait  till  morning  ?  " 

"Who  knows?"  said  Beppo,  with  a  genuine  shrug  of 
native  indifference.     "  Princes,  belike  !  " 

"Princes  or  beggars,  we  all  have  lives  to  save!"  mum- 
bled out  an  old  man,  as  he  reseated  himself  by  the  fire. 
Meanwhile  the  courier  had  entered  the  hut,  and  was  in 
earnest  negotiation  with  the  chief,  who,  however,  showed 
no  disposition  to  run  the  hazard  of  the  attempt. 

"  Are  you  all  cowards  alike?  "  said  the  courier,  in  all  the 
insolence  of  his  privileged  order;  "  or  is  it  a  young  fellow 
of  your  stamp  that  shrinks  from  the  risk  of  a  wet  jacket?  " 

This  speech  was  addressed  to  the  youth,  whom  he  had 
mistaken  for  one  of  the  raftsmen. 

"  Keep  your  coarse  speeches  for  those  who  will  bear 
them,  my  good  fellow,"  said  the  other,  boldly,  "or  may- 
hap the  first  wet  jacket  here  will  be  one  with  gold  lace  on 
the  collar." 

"He's  not  one  of  us;  he's  a  traveller,"  quickly  inter- 

24 


370        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

posed  the  chief,  who  saw  that  an  angry  scene  was  brewing. 
"He's  only  waiting  to  cross  the  river,"  muttered  he  in  a 
whisper,  "  when  some  one  comes  rich  enough  to  hire  the  raft." 

''^  Sacre  bleu!  Then  he  shan't  come  with  us;  that  I'll 
promise  him,"  said  the  courier,  whose  offended  dignity 
roused  all  his  ire.  "Now,  once  for  all,  my  men,  will  you 
earn  a  dozen  Napoleons,  or  not?  Here  they  are  for  you 
if  you  land  us  safely  at  the  other  side;  and  never  were 
you  so  well  paid  in  your  lives  for  an  hour's  labor." 

The  sight  of  the  gold,  as  it  glistened  temptingly  in  his 
outstretched  hand,  appealed  to  then*  hearts  far  more  elo- 
quently than  all  his  words,  and  they  gathered  in  a  group 
together  to  hold  counsel. 

"And  you,  are  you  also  a  distinguished  stranger?" 
said  the  courier,  addressing  Billy,  who  sat  warming  his 
hands  by  the  embers  of  the  fire. 

"  Look  you,  my  man,"  cried  the  youth,  "  all  the  gold  in 
your  master's  leathern  bag  there  can  give  you  no  claim  to 
insult  those  who  have  offered  you  no  offence.  It  is  enough 
that  you  know  that  we  do  not  belong  to  the  raft  to  suffer  us 
to  escape  your  notice." 

"  Sacristil"  exclaimed  the  courier,  in  a  tone  of  insolent 
mockery,  "  I  have  travelled  the  road  long  enough  to  learn 
that  one  does  not  need  an  introduction  before  addressing  a 
vagabond." 

"Vagabond!  "  cried  the  j^outh,  furiously;  and  he  sprang 
at  the  other  with  the  bound  of  a  tiger.  The  courier  quickly 
parried  the  blow  aimed  at  him,  and,  closely  grappled,  they 
both  now  reeled  out  of  the  hut  in  terrible  conflict.  With 
that  terror  of  the  knife  that  figures  in  all  Italian  quarrels, 
the  boatmen  did  not  dare  to  interfere,  but  looked  on  as, 
wrestling  with  all  then*  might,  the  combatants  struggled, 
each  endeavoring  to  push  the  other  towards  the  stream. 
Billy,  too,  restrained  by  force,  could  not  come  to  the  rescue, 
and  could  only  by  words,  screamed  out  in  all  the  wildness 
of  his  agony,  encourage  his  companion.  "  Drop  on  your 
knee  —  catch  him  by  the  legs  —  throw  him  back  —  back  into 
the  stream.  That's  it  —  that's  it!  Good  luck  to  ye!" 
shouted  he,  madly,  as  he  fought  like  a  lion  with  those  about 
him.  Slipping  in  the  slimy  soil,  they  had  both  now  come  to 
their  knees ;  and  after  a  struggle  of  some  minutes'  duration, 


F!sr^« 


'--■1 


■'    . .        ^^  THE    "*^ 

I   ^NIVERSfTY 

\  OF 


V 


THE  FLOOD  IN  THE  MAGRA.  371 

rolled,  clasped  in  each  other's  fierce  etabrace,  down  the  slope 
into  the  river.  A  plash,  and  a  cry  half  smothered,  were 
heard,  and  all  was  over. 

While  some  threw  themselves  on  the  frantic  creature, 
whose  agony  now  overtopped  his  reason,  and  who  fought 
to  get  free,  with  the  furious  rage  of  despair,  others,  seizing 
lanterns  and  torches,  hurried  along  the  bank  of  the  torrent 
to  try  and  rescue  the  combatants.  A  sudden  winding  of 
the  river  at  the  place  gave  little  hope  to  the  search,  and  it 
was  all  but  certain  that  the  current  must  already  have  swept 
them  down  far  beyond  any  chance  of  succor.  Assisted  by 
the  servants  of  the  ti-aveller,  who  speedily  were  apprised  of 
the  disaster,  the  search  was  continued  for  hours,  and  morn- 
ing at  length  began  to  break  over  the  dreary  scene,  without 
one  ray  of  hope.  By  the  gray  cold  dawn,  the  yellow  flood 
could  be  seen  for  a  considerable  distance,  and  the  banks 
too,  over  which  a  gauzy  mist  was  hanging ;  but  not  a  living 
thing  was  there !  The  wild  torrent  swept  along  his  murky 
course  with  a  deep  monotonous  roar.  Trunks  of  trees  and 
leafy  branches  rose  and  sank  in  the  wavy  flood,  but  nothing 
suggested  the  vaguest  hope  that  either  had  escaped.  The 
traveller's  carriage  returned  to  Spezia,  and  Billy,  now 
bereft  of  reason,  was  conveyed  to  the  same  place,  fast  tied 
with  cords,  to  restrain  him  from  a  violence  that  threatened 
his  own  life  and  that  of  any  near  him. 

In  the  evening  of  that  day  a  peasant's  car  arrived  at 
Spezia,  conveying  the  almost  lifeless  courier,  who  had  been 
found  on  the  river's  bank,  near  the  mouth  of  the  Magra. 
How  he  had  reached  the  spot,  or  what  had  become  of  his 
antagonist,  he  knew  not.  Indeed,  the  fever  which  soon  set 
in  placed  him  beyond  the  limit  of  all  questioning,  and  his 
incoherent  cries  and  ravings  only  betrayed  the  terrible 
agonies  his  mind  must  have  passed  through. 

If  this  tragic  incident,  heightened  by  the  actual  presence 
of  two  of  the  actors  —  one  all  but  dead,  the  other  dying  — 
engaged  the  entire  interest  and  sympathy  of  the  little  town, 
the  authorities  were  actively  employed  in  investigating  the 
event,  and  ascertaining,  so  far  as  they  could,  to  which  side 
the  chief  blame  inclined. 

The  raftsmen  had  all  been  arrested,  and  were  examined 
carefully,  one  by  one ;  and  now  it  .only  remained  to  obtain 


372        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

from  the  traveller   himself  whatever  information   he   could 
contribute  to  throw  light  on  the  affair. 

His  passport,  showing  that  he  was  an  English  peer, 
obtained  for  him  all  the  deference  and  respect  foreign  offi- 
cials are  accustomed  to  render  to  that  title,  and  the  Prefect 
announced  that  if  it  suited  his  convenience,  he  would  wait 
on  his  Lordship  at  his  hotel  to  receive  his  deposition. 

"I  have  nothing  to  depose,  no  information  to  give,"  was 
the  dry  and  not  over-courteous  response ;  but  as  the  visit,  it 
was  intimated,  was  indispensable,  he  named  his  hour  to 
admit  him. 

The  bland  and  polite  tone  of  the  Prefect  was  met  by  a 
manner  of  cold  but  well-bred  ease  which  seemed  to  imply 
that  the  traveller  only  regarded  the  incident  in  the  light  of 
an  unpleasant  interruption  to  his  journey,  but  in  which  he 
took  no  other  interest.  Even  the  hints  thrown  out  that  he 
ought  to  consider  himself  aggrieved  and  his  dignity  insulted, 
produced  no  effect  upon  him. 

"It  was  my  intention  to  have  halted  a  few  days  at  Massa, 
and  I  could  have  obtained  another  courier  in  the  interval," 
was  the  cool  commentary  he  bestowed  on  the  incident. 

"  But  your  Lordship  would  surely  desire  investigation.  A 
man  is  missing ;  a  great  crime  may  have  been  committed  —  " 

"Excuse  my  interrupting;  but  as  I  am  not,  nor  can  be 
supposed  to  be,  the  criminal,  —  nor  do  I  feel  myself  the 
victim, — while  I  have  not  a  claim  to  the  character  of 
witness,  you  would  only  harass  me  with  interrogatories  I 
could  not  answer,  and  excite  me  to  take  interest,  or  at  least 
bestow  attention,  on  what  cannot  concern  me." 

"  Yet  there  are  circumstances  in  this  case  which  give  it 
the  character  of  a  preconcerted  plan,"  said  the  Prefect, 
thoughtfully. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  the  other,  in  a  tone  of  utter  indifference. 

"  Certainly,  the  companion  of  the  man  who  is  missing, 
and  of  whom  no  clew  can  be  discovered,  is  reported  to  have 
uttered  your  name  repeatedly  in  his  ravings." 

"  My  name,  — how  so?"  cried  the  stranger,  hurriedly. 

"  Yes,  my  Lord,  the  name  of  your  passport,  —  Lord  Glen-  ' 
core.     Two  of  those  I  have  placed  to  watch  beside  his  bed 
have  repeated  the  same  story,  and  told  how  he  has  never 
ceased  to  mutter  the  name  to  himself  in  his  wanderings." 


THE  ELOOD  IN  THE  MAGRA.  373 

"Is  this  a  mere  fancy?"  said  the  stranger,  over  whose 
sickly  features  a  flush  now  mantled.     "  Can  I  see  him?  " 

"Of  course.  He  is  in  the  hospital,  and  too  ill  to  be 
removed ;  but  if  you  will  visit  him  there,  I  will  accompany 

you." 

It  was  only  when  a  call  was  made  upon  Lord  Glen  core 
for  some  bodily  exertion  that  his  extreme  debility  became 
apparent.  Seated  at  ease  in  a  chair,  his  manner  seemed 
merely  that  of  natural  coolness  and  apathy;  he  spoke  as 
one  who  would  not  suffer  his  nature  to  be  ruffled  by  any 
avoidable  annoyance ;  but  now,  as  he  arose  from  his  seat, 
and  endeavored  to  walk,  one  side  betrayed  unmistakable 
signs  of  palsy,  and  his  general  frame  exhibited  the  last 
stage  of  weakness. 

"  You  see,  sir,  that  the  exertion  costs  its  price,"  said  he, 
with  a  sad,  sickly  smile.  "  I  am  the  wreck  of  what  once 
was  a  man  noted  for  his  strength." 

The  other  muttered  some  words  of  comfort  and  compas- 
sion, and  they  descended  the  stairs  together. 

"  I  do  not  know  this  man,"  said  Lord  Glencore,  as  he 
gazed  on  the  flushed  and  fevered  face  of  the  sick  man, 
whose  ill-trimmed  and  shaggy  beard  gave  additional  wild- 
ness  to  his  look;  "I  have  never,  to  my  knowledge,  seen 
him  before." 

The  accents  of  the  speaker  appeared  to  have  suddenly 
struck  some  chord  in  the  sufferer's  intelligence,  for  he 
struggled  for  an  instant,  and  then,  raising  himself  on  his 
elbow,  stared  fixedly  at  him.  "Not  know  me?"  cried  he, 
in  English ;  "  't  is  because  sorrow  and  sickness  has  changed 
me,  then." 

"Who  are  you?  Tell  me  your  name?"  said  Glencore, 
eagerly. 

"I'm  Billy  Traynor,  my  Lord,  the  one  you  remember, 
the  doctor — '* 

"  And  my  boy !  "  screamed  Glencore,  wildly. 

The  sick  man  threw  up  both  his  arms  in  the  air,  and  fell 
backward  with  a  cry  of  despair ;  while  Glencore,  tottering 
for  an  instant,  sank  with  a  low  groan,  and  fell  senseless  on 
the  ground. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

A   FRAGMENT    OF   A    LETTER. 

Long  before  Lord  Glencore  had  begun  to  rally  from  an 
attack  which  had  revived  all  the  symptoms  of  his  former 
illness,  Billy  Tray  nor  had  perfectly  recovered,  and  was 
assiduously  occupied  in  attending  him.  Almost  the  first 
tidings  which  Glencore  could  comprehend  assured  him  that 
the  boy  was  safe,  and  living  at  Massa  under  the  protection 
of  the  Chevalier  Stubber,  and  waiting  eagerly  for  Billy  to 
join  him.  A  brief  extract  from  one  of  the  youth's  letters 
to  his  warm-hearted  follower  will  suffice  to  show  how  he 
himself  regarded  the  incident  which  befell,  and  the  fortune 
that  lay  before  him. 

It  was  a  long  swim,  of  a  dark  night  too,  Master  Billy ;  and 
whenever  the  arm  of  a  tree  would  jostle  me,  as  it  floated  past,  I 
felt  as  though  that  "  blessed  "  courier  was  again  upon  me,  and 
turned  to  give  fight  at  once.  If  it  were  not  that  the  river  took  a 
sudden  bend  as  it  nears  the  sea,  I  must  infallibly  have  been  carried 
out ;  but  I  found  myself  quite  suddenly  in  slack  water,  and  very 
soon  after  it  shallowed  so  much  that  I  could  walk  ashore.  The 
thought  of  what  became  of  my  adversary  weighed  more  heavily 
on  me  when  I  touched  land ;  indeed,  while  my  own  chances  of 
escape  were  few,  I  took  his  fate  easily  enough.  With  all  its  dan- 
gers, it  was  a  glorious  time,  as,  hurrying  downward  in  the  torrent, 
through  the  dark  night,  the  thunder  growling  overhead,  the 
breakers  battering  away  on  the  bar,  I  was  the  only  living  thing 
there  to  confront  that  peril !  What  an  emblem  of  my  own  fate 
in  everything  !  A  headlong  course,  an  unknown  ending,  darkness 
—  utter  and  dayless  darkness  —  around  me,  and  not  one  single 
soul  to  say,  "  Courage  !  "  There  is  something  splendidly  exciting 
in  the  notion  of  having  felt  thoughts  that  others  have  never  felt,  — 
of  having  set  footsteps  in  that  untracked  sand  where  no  traveller 
has  ever  ventured.     This  impression  never  left  me  as  I  buffeted 


A  FRAGMENT  OF  A  LETTER.  375 

the  murky  waves,  and  struck  out  boldly  through  the  surfy  stream. 
Nay,  more,  it  will  never  leave  me  while  I  live.  I  have  now  proved 
myself  to  my  own  heart !  I  have  been,  and  for  a  considerable 
time  too,  face  to  face  with  death.  I  have  regarded  my  fate  as 
certain,  and  yet  have  I  not  quailed  in  spirit  or  flinched  in  coolness. 
No,  Billy ;  I  reviewed  every  step  of  my  strange  and  wayward  life. 
I  bethought  me  of  my  childhood,  with  all  its  ambitious  longings, 
and  my  boyish  days  as  sorrow  first  broke  upon  me,  and  I  felt  that 
there  was  a  fitness  in  this  darksome  and  mysterious  ending  to  a 
life  that  touched  on  no  other  existence.  For  am  I  not  as  much 
alone  in  the  great  world  as  when  I  swam  there  in  the  yellow  flood 
of  the  Magra  ? 

As  the  booming  breakers  of  the  sea  met  my  ear,  and  I  saw  that 
I  was  nearing  the  wide  ocean,  I  felt  as  might  a  soldier  when  charg- 
ing an  enemy's  battery  at  speed.  I  was  wildly  mad  with  impa- 
tience to  get  forward,  and  shouted  till  my  voice  rang  out  above 
the  din  around  me.  How  the  mad  cheer  echoed  in  my  own  heart ! 
It  was  the  trumpet-call  of  victory. 

Was  it  reaction  from  all  this  excitement  —  the  depression  that 
follows  past  danger  —  that  made  me  feel  low  and  miserable  after- 
wards ?  I  know  I  walked  along  towards  Lavenza  in  listlessness, 
and  when  a  gendarme  stopped  to  question  me,  and  asked  for  my 
passport,  I  had  not  even  energy  to  tell  him  how  1  came  there. 
Even  the  intense  desire  to  see  that  spot  once  more,  —  to  walk  that 
garden  and  sit  upon  that  terrace,  —  all  had  left  me;  it  was  as 
though  the  waves  had  drowned  the  spirit,  and  left  the  limbs  to 
move  unguided.  He  led  me  beside  the  walls  of  the  villa,  by  the 
little  wicket  itself,  and  still  I  felt  no  touch  of  feeling,  no  memory 
came  back  on  me ;  I  was  indiiferent  to  all !  and  yet  you  know  how 
many  a  weary  mile  I  have  come  just  to  see  them  once  more,  —  to 
revisit  a  spot  where  the  only  day-dream  of  my  life  lingered,  and 
where  I  gave  way  to  the  promptings  of  a  hope  that  have  not  often 
warmed  this  sad  heart. 

What  a  sluggish  swamp  has  this  nature  of  mine  become,  when 
it  needs  a  hurricane  of  passion  to  stir  it !  Here  I  am,  living, 
breathing,  walking,  and  sleeping,  but  without  one  sentiment  that 
attaches  me  to  existence ;  and  yet  do  I  feel  as  though  whatever 
endangered  life,  or  jeoparded  fame  would  call  me  up  to  an  effort 
and  make  me  of  some  value  to  myself. 

I  went  yesterday  to  see  my  old  studio  :  sorry  things  were  those 
strivings  of  mine,  —false  endeavors  to  realize  conceptions  that 
must  have  some  other  interpreter  than  marble.  Forms  are  but 
weak  appeals,  words  are  coarse  ones ;  music  alone,  my  dear 
friend,  is  the  true  voice  of  the  heart's  meanings. 

How  a  little  melody  that  a  peasant  girl  was  singing  last  night 


376        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

touched  me  !  It  was  one  that  she  used  to  warble,  humming  as  we 
Walked,  like  some  stray  waif  thrown  up  by  memory  on  the  waste 
of  life. 

So  then,  at  last,  I  feel  I  am  not  a  sculptor ;  still  as  little,  with 
all  your  teaching,  am  I  a  scholar.  The  world  of  active  life  offers 
to  me  none  of  its  seductions ;  I  only  recognize  what  there  is  in  it 
of  vulgar  contention  and  low  rivalry.  I  cannot  be  any  of  the 
hundred  things  by  which  men  eke  out  subsistence,  and  yet  I  long 
for  the  independence  of  being  the  arbiter  of  my  own  daily  life. 
What  is  to  become  of  me  ?  Say,  dearest,  best  of  friends,  —  say 
but  the  word,  and  let  me  try  to  obey  you.  What  of  our  old  plans 
of  '  savagery '  ?  The  fascinations  of  civilized  habits  have  made 
no  stronger  hold  upon  me  since  we  relinquished  that  grand  idea. 
Neither  you  nor  I  assuredly  have  any  places  assigned  us  at  the 
feast  of  this  old-world  life ;  none  have  bidden  us  to  it,  nor  have 
we  even  the  fitting  garments  to  grace  it ! 

There  are  moments,  however,  —  one  of  them  is  on  me  while  I 
write,  — wherein  I  should  like  to  storm  that  strong  citadel  of  social 
exclusion,  and  test  its  strength.  Who  are  they  who  garrison  it  ? 
Are  they  better,  and  wiser,  and  purer  than  their  fellows  ?  Are 
they  lifted  by  the  accidents  of  fortune  above  the  casualties  and 
infirmities  of  nature  ?  and  are  they  more  gentle-minded,  more 
kindly-hearted,  and  more  forgiving  than  others  ?  This  I  should 
wish  to  know  and  learn  for  myseK.  Would  they  admit  us,  for  the 
nonce,  to  see  and  judge  them?  let  the  Bastard  and  the  Beggar  sit 
down  at  their  board,  and  make  brotherhood  with  them  ?  I  trow 
not,  Billy.     They  would  hand  us  over  to  the  police  ! 

And  my  friend  the  courier  was  not  so  far  astray  when  he  called 
us  vagabonds  ! 

If  I  were  free,  I  should,  of  course,  be  with  you ;  but  I  am  under 
a  kind  of  mild  bondage  here,  of  which  I  don't  clearly  comprehend 
the  meaning.  The  chief  minister  has  taken  me,  in  some  fashion, 
under  his  protection,  and  I  am  given  to  understand  that  no  ill  is 
intended  me ;  and,  indeed,  so  far  as  treatment  and  moderate 
liberty  are  concerned,  I  have  every  reason  to  be  satisfied.  Still  is 
there  something  deeply  wounding  in  all  this  mysterious  "con- 
sideration." It  whispers  to  me  of  an  interest  in  me  on  the  part  of 
those  who  are  ashamed  to  avow  it,  —  of  kind  feelings  held  in 
check  by  self-esteem.  Good  Heavens !  what  have  /  done,  that 
this  humiliation  should  be  my  portion?  There  is  no  need  of 
any  subtlety  to  teach  me  what  I  am,  and  what  the  world  insists  I 
must  remain.  There  is  no  ambition  I  dare  to  strive  for,  no  affec- 
tion my  heart  may  cherish,  no  honorable  contest  I  may  engage  in, 
but  that  the  utterance  of*  one  fatal  word  may  not  bar  the  gate 
against  my  entrance,  and  send  me  back  in  shame  and  confusion. 
Had  I  of  myself  incurred  this  penalty,  there  would  be  in  me  that 


A  FRAGMENT  OF  A  LETTER.  377 

stubborn  sense  of  resistance  that  occurs  to  every  one  who  counts 
the  gain  and  loss  of  all  his  actions  ;  but  I  have  not  done  so !  In 
the  work  of  my  own  degi'adation  I  am  blameless  1 

I  have  just  been  told  that  a  certain  Princess  de  Sabloukoff  is 
to  arrive  here  this  evening,  and  that  I  am  to  wait  upon  her  im- 
mediately. Good  Heavens !  can  she  be —  ?  The  thought  has 
just  struck  me,  and  my  head  is  already  wandering  at  the  bare 
notion  of  it  I  How  I  pray  that  this  may  not  be  so  ;  my  own  shame 
is  enough,  and  more  than  I  can  bear ;  but  to  witness  that  of  — ! 
Can  you  tell  me  nothing  of  this?  But  even  if  you  can,  the 
tidings  will  come  too  late  ;  I  shall  have  already  seen  her. 

I  am  unable  to  write  more  now ;  my  brain  is  burning,  and  my 
hand  trembles  so  that  I  cannot  trace  the  letters.  Adieu  till  this 
evening. 

Midnight. 

I  was  all  in  error,  dear  friend.  I  have  seen  her ;  for  the  last 
two  hours  we  have  conversed  together,  and  my  suspicion  had  no 
foundation.  She  evidently  knows  all  my  history,  and  almost 
gives  me  to  believe  that  one  day  or  other  I  may  stand  free  of  this 
terrible  shame  that  oppresses  me.  If  this  were  possible,  what 
vengeance  would  be  enough  to  wreak  on  those  who  have  thus 
practised  on  me  ?  Can  you  imagine  any  vendetta  that  would  pay 
off  the  heart-corroding  misery  that  has  made  my  youth  like  a 
sorrowful  old  age,  dried  up  hope  within  me,  made  my  ambition  to 
be  a  snare,  and  my  love  a  mere  mockery?  I  could  spend  a  life 
in  the  search  after  this  revenge,  and  think  it  all  too  short  to 
exhaust  it ! 

I  have  much  to  tell  you  of  this  Princess,  but  I  doubt  if  I  can 
remember  it.  Her  manner  meant  so  much,  and  yet  so  little; 
there  was  such  elegance  of  expression  with  such  perfect  ease,  — 
so  much  of  i\iQ  finest  knowledge  of  life  united  to  a  kind  of  hopeful 
trust  in  mankind,  that  I  kept  eternally  balancing  in  my  mind 
whether  her  intelligence  or  her  kindliness  had  the  supremacy. 
She  spoke  to  me  much  of  the  Harleys.  Ida  was  well,  and  at 
Florence.  She  had  refused  Wahnsdorf's  offer  of  marriage,  and 
though  ardently  solicited  to  let  time  test  her  decision,  persisted  in 
her  rejection. 

Whether  she  knew  of  my  affection  or  not,  I  cannot  say ;  but  I 
opine  not,  for  she  talked  of  Ida  as  one  whose  haughty  nature 
would  decline  alliance  with  even  an  imperial  house  if  they  deemed 
it  a  condescension ;  so  that  the  refusal  of  Wahnsdorf  may  have 
been  on  this  ground.     But  how  can  it  matter  to  me  ? 

I  am  to  remain  here  a  week,  I  think  they  said.  Sir  Horace 
Upton  is  coming  on  his  way  south,  and  wishes  to  see  me  ;  but  you 
will  be  with  me  ere  that  time,  and  then  we  can  plan  our  future 


378         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

together.  As  this  web  of  intrigue  —  for  so  I  cannot  but  feel  it 
—  draws  more  closely  around  me,  I  grow  more  and  more  im- 
patient to  break  bounds  and  be  away !  It  is  evident  enough  that 
my  destiny  is  to  be  the  sport  of  some  accident,  lucky  or  unlucky, 
in  the  fate  of  others.     Shall  I  await  this  ? 

And  they  have  given  me  money,  and  fine  clothes,  and  a  servant 
to  wait  upon  me,  and  treated  me  like  one  of  condition.  Is  this 
but  another  act  of  the  drama,  the  first  scene  of  which  was  an  old 
ruined  castle  in  Ireland  ?  They  will  fail  signally  if  they  think  so ; 
a  heart  can  be  broken  only  once !  They  may  even  feel  sorry  for 
what  they  have  done,  but  I  can  never  forgive  them  for  what 
they  have  made  me !  Come  to  me,  dear,  kind  friend,  as  soon  as 
you  can  ;  you  little  know  how  far  your  presence  reconciles  me  to 
the  world  and  to  yourself  !  —  Ever  yours, 

C.  M. 

This  letter  Billy  Traynor  read  over  and  over  as  he  sat  by 
Glencore's  bedside.  It  was  his  companion  in  the  long, 
dreary  hours  of  the  night,  and  he  pondered  over  it  as  he  sat 
in  the  darkened  room  at  noonday. 

'*  What  is  that  you  are  crumpling  up  there?  From  whom 
is  the  letter?"  said  Lord  Glencore,  as  Billy  hurriedly  en- 
deavored to  conceal  the  oft-perused  epistle.  "  Nay,"  cried 
he,  suddenly  correcting  himself,  "you  need  not  tell  me;  I 
asked  without  forethought."  He  paused  a  few  seconds,  and 
then  went  on:  "I  am  now  as  much  recovered  as  I  ever 
hope  to  be,  and  you  may  leave  me  to-morrow.  I  know  that 
both  your  wish  and  your  duty  call  you  elsewhere.  What- 
ever future  fortune  may  betide  any  of  us,  you  at  least  have 
been  a  true  and  faithful  friend,  and  shall  never  want !  As 
I  count  upon  your  honesty  to  keep  a  pledge,  I  reckon  on 
your  delicacy  not  asking  the  reasons  for  it.  You  will, 
therefore,  not  speak  of  having  been  with  me  here.  To  men- 
tion me  would  be  but  to  bring  up  bitter  memories." 

In  the  pause  which  now  ensued,  Billy  Traynor's  feelings 
underwent  a  sore  trial ;  for  while  he  bethought  him  that  now 
or  never  had  come  the  moment  to  reconcile  the  father  and 
the  son,  thus  mysteriously  separated,  his  fears  also  whis- 
pered the  danger  of  any  ill-advised  step  on  his  part,  and  the 
injury  he  might  by  possibility  inflict  on  one  he  loved  best  on 
earth. 

"You  make  me  this  pledge,  therefore,  before  we  part," 
said  Lord  Glencore,  who  continued  to  ruminate  on  what  he 


A  FRAGMENT  OF  A  LETTER.  379 

had  spoken.  "  It  is  less  for  my  sake  than  that  of  another." 
Billy  took  the  hand  Glencore  tendered  towards  him  respect- 
fully in  his  own,  and  kissed  it  twice. 

"There  are  men  who  have  no  need  of  oaths  to  ratify 
their  faith  and  trustfulness.  You  are  one  of  them,  Tray- 
nor,"  said  Glencore,  affectionately. 

Billy  tried  to  speak,  but  his  heart  was  too  full,  and  he 
could  not  utter  a  word. 

"  A  dying  man's  words  have  ever  their  solemn  weight," 
said  Glencore,  "  and  mine  beseech  you  not  to  desert  one 
who  has  no  prize  in  life  equal  to  your  friendship.  Promise 
me  nothing,  but  do  not  forget  my  prayer  to  you."  And 
with  this,  Lord  Glencore  turned  away,  and  buried  his  face 
between  his  hands. 

"  And  in  the  name  of  Heaven,"  muttered  Billy  to  himself 
as  he  stole  away,  "what  is  it  that  keeps  them  apart  and 
won't  let  them  love  one  another  ?  Sure  it  was  n't  in  nature 
that  a  boy  of  his  years  could  ever  do  what  would  separate 
them  this  way.  What  could  he  possibly  say  or  do  that  his 
father  might  n't  forget  and  forgive  by  this  time  ?  And  then 
if  it  was  n't  the  child's  fault  at  all,  where  's  the  justice  in 
makin'  him  pay  for  another's  crime?  Sure  enough,  great 
people  must  be  unlike  poor  craytures  like  me,  in  their 
hearts  and  feelin's  as  well  as  in  their  grandeur ;  and  there 
must  be  things  that  we  never  mind  nor  think  of,  that  are 
thought  to  be  mortial  injuries  by  them.  Ay,  and  that  is 
raysonable  too !  We  see  the  same  in  the  matayrial  world. 
There 's  fevers  that  some  never  takes ;  and  there  's  climates 
some  can  live  in,  and  no  others  can  bear ! 

"I  suppose,  now,"  said  he,  with  a  wise  shake  of  the 
head,  ' '  pride  —  pride  is  at  the  root  of  it  all,  some  way  or 
other ;  and  if  it  is,  I  may  give  up  the  investigation  at  oust, 
for  divil  a  one  o'  me  knows  what  pride  is,  —  barrin'  it's  the 
delight  one  feels  in  consthruin'  a  hard  bit  in  a  Greek 
chorus,  or  hittin'  the  manin'  of  a  doubtful  passage  in  ould 
^schylus.  But  what's  the  good  o'  me  puzzlin'  myself? 
If  I  was  to  speculate  for  fifty  years,  I  'd  never  be  able  to 
think  like  a  lord,  after  all !  "  And  with  this  conclusion  he 
began  to  prepare  for  his  journey. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

HOW   A    SOVEREIGN   TREATS    WITH    HIS    MINISTER. 

"What  can  have  brought  them  here,  Stubber?"  said  the 
Duke  of  Massa,  as  he  walked  to  and  fro  in  his  dressing- 
room,  with  an  air  of  considerable  perturbation.  "  Be 
assured  of  one  thing,  they  have  come  for  mischief !  I  know 
that  Sabloukoff  well.  She  it  was  separated  Prince  Max 
from  my  sister,  and  that  Montenegro  affair  was  all  her 
doing  also." 

"  I  don't  suspect  —  " 

"Don't  you?  Well,  then,  7 do,  sir;  and  that's  enough," 
said  he,  interrupting.  "  And  as  to  Upton,  he  's  well  known 
throughout  Europe,  —  a  '  mauvais  coucheur,'  Stubber ;  that 's 
what  the  Emperor  Franz  called  him,  —  a  '  mauvais  coucheur,' 
one  of  those  fellows  England  employs  to  get  up  the  embar- 
rassments she  so  deeply  deplores.  Eh,  Stubber,  that 's  the 
phrase :  '  While  we  deeply  deplore  the  condition  of  the  king- 
dom,' —  that's  always  the  exordium  to  sending  out  a  fleet  or 
an  impertinent  despatch.  But  I  '11  not  endure  it  here.  I 
have  my  sovereign  rights,  my  independence,  my  allies.  By 
the  way,  haven't  my  allies  taken  possession  of  the  Opera 
House  for  a  barrack?" 

"That  they  have,  sir;  and  they  threaten  an  encampment 
in  the  Court  gardens." 

"An  open  insult,  an  outrage!  And  have  you  endured 
and  submitted  to  this  ?  " 

"  I  have  refused  the  permission ;  but  they  may  very  pos- 
sibly take  no  heed  of  my  protest." 

"  And  you  '11  tell  me  that  I  am  the  ruler  of  this  state?  "  . 

"  No,  but  I'll  say  you  might,  if  you  liked  to  be  so." 

"How  so,  Stubber?  Come,  my  worthy  fellow,  what's 
your  plan?  You  have  a  plan,  I'm  certain  —  but  I  guess  it: 
turn  Protestant,  hunt  out  the  Jesuits,  close  the   churches, 


HOW  A  SOVEREIGN  TREATS   WITH   HIS  MINISTER.    381 

demolish  the  monasteries,  and  send  for  an  English  frigate 
down  to  the  Marina,  where  there 's  not  water  to  float  a 
fishing-boat.  But  no,  sk,  I  '11  have  no  such  alliances ;  I  '11 
throw  myself  upon  the  loyalty  and  attachment  of  my  people, 
and  —  I'll  raise  the  taxes.  Eh,  Stubber?  We'll  tax  the 
*  colza  '  and  the  quarries  !  If  they  demur,  we  '11  abdicate  ; 
that's  my  last  word, — abdicate." 

"I  wonder  who  this  sick  man  can  be  that  accompanies 
Upton,"  said  Stubber,  who  never  suffered  himself  to  be 
moved  by  his  master's  violence. 

"Another  firebrand, — another  emissary  of  English  dis- 
turbance. Hardenberg  was  perfectly  right  when  he  said  the 
English  nation  pays  off  the  meanest  subserviency  to  then-  own 
aristocracy  by  hunting  down  all  that  is  noble  in  every  state 
of  Europe.  There,  sir,  he  hit  the  mark  in  the  very  centre. 
Slaves  at  home,  rebels  abroad,  —  that 's  your  code !  " 

"  We  contrive  to  mix  up  a  fair  share  of  liberty  with  our 
bondage,  sir." 

''In  your  talk,  —  only  in  your  talk;  and  in  the  news- 
papers, Stubber.  I  have  studied  you  closely  and  atten- 
tively. You  submit  to  more  social  indignities  than  any 
nai;ion,  ancient  or  modern.  I  was  in  London  in  '15,  and  I 
remember,  at  a  race-course,  —  Ascot,  they  called  it,  —  the 
Prince  had  a  certain  horse  called  Rufus." 

"  I  rode  him,"  said  Stubber,  dryly. 

"  You  rode  him?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  was  his  jock  for  the  King's  Plate.  There 
was  a  matter  of  twenty-eight  started,  —  the  largest  field  ever 
known  for  the  Cup,  —  and  Rufus  reared,  and,  falling  back, 
killed  his  rider ;  ,and  the  Duke  of  Dunrobin  sent  for  me,  and 
told  me  to  mount.     That's  the  way  I  came  to  be  there." 

"  Per  Bacco !  it  was  a  splendid  race,  and  I'm  sure  I  never 
suspected  when  I  cheered  you  coming  in,  that  I  was  welcom- 
ing my  future  minister.  Eh,  Stubber,  only  fancy  what  a 
change ! " 

Stubber  only  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  though  the  altera- 
tion in  fortune  was  no  such  great  prize  after  all. 

''  I  won  two  thousand  guineas  on  that  day,  Stubber. 
Lord  Heddleworth  paid  me  in  gold,  I  remember;  for  they 
picked  my  pocket  of   three  rouleaux  on  the  course.     The 


382        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

Prince  laughed  so  at  dinner  about  it,  and  said  it  was  pure 
patriotism  not  to  suffer  exportation  of  bullion.  A  great 
people  the  English,  that  I  must  say !  The  display  of  wealth 
was  the  grandest  spectacle  I  ever  beheld ;  and  such  beauty 
too !  By  the  way,  Stubber,  our  ballet  here  is  detestable. 
Where  did  they  gather  together  that  gang  of  horrors  ?  " 

''  What  signifies  it,  sir,  if  the  Austrian  Jagers  are  bivou- 
acked in  the  theatre  ?  " 

''Very  true,  by  Jove!"  said  the  Duke,  pondering. 
"  Can't  we  hit  upon  something,  —  have  you  no  happy  sug- 
gestion ?  I  have  it,  Stubber,  —  an  admirable  thought.  We  '11 
have  Upton  to  dinner.  We  '11  make  it  appear  that  he  has 
come  here  specially  to  treat  with  us.  There  is  a  great  cold- 
ness just  now  between  St.  James's  and  Vienna.  Upton  will 
be  charmed  with  the  thought  of  an  intrigue;  so  will  be 
La  Sabloukoff .  We  '11  not  invite  the  Field-Marshal  Rosen- 
krantz  :  that  will  itself  offend  Austria.  Eh,  Stubber,  is  n't 
it  good?  Say  to-morrow  at  six,  and  go  yourself  with  the 
invitation." 

And,  overjoyed  with  the  notion  of  his  own  subtlety,  the 
Prince  walked  up  and  down,  laughing  heartily,  and  rubbing 
his  hands  in  glee. 

Stubber,  however,  was  too  well  versed  in  the  change- 
ability of  his  master's  nature  to  exhibit  any  rash  prompti- 
tude in  obeying  him. 

"You  must  manage  to  let  the  English  papers  speak  of 
this,  Stubber.  The  '  Augsburg  Gazette '  will  be  sure  to 
copy  the  paragraph,  and  what  a  sensation  it  will  create  at 
Vienna!" 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think  Upton  has  come  here  about  that 
young  fellow  we  gave  up  to  the  Austrians  last  autumn,  and 
for  whom  he  desires  to  claim  some  compensation  and  an 
ample  apology." 

"Apology,  of  course,  Stubber, — humiliation  to  any  ex- 
tent. I  'It  send  the  Minister  Landelli  into  exile,  —  to  the 
galleys,  if  they  insist ;  but  I  '11  not  pay  a  scudo,  —  my  royal 
word  on  it !  But  who  says  that  such  is  the  reason  of  his 
presence  here  ?  " 

' '  I  had  a  hint  of  it  last  night,  and  I  received  a  polite  note 
from  Upton  this  morning,  asking  when  he  might  have  a  few 
moments'  conversation  with  me." 


HOW  A  SOVEREIGN  TREATS  WITH  HIS  MINISTER.    383 

'*  Go  to  him,  Stubber,  with  our  invitation.  Ask  him  if 
he  likes  shooting.  Say  I  am  going  to  Serravezza  on  Satur- 
day; sound  him  if  he  desires  to  have  the  Red  Cross  of 
Massa ;  hint  that  I  am  an  ardent  admu-er  of  his  public  career ; 
and  be  sure  to  tell  me  something  he  has  said  or  done,  if  he 
come  to  dinner." 

"  There  is  to  be  a  dinner,  then,  sii-?  "  asked  Stubber,  with 
the  air  of  one  partly  struggling  with  a  conviction. 

"I  have  said  so.  Chevalier!"  replied  the  Prince, 
haughtily,  and  in  the  tone  of  a  man  whose  decisions  were 
irrevocable.  "  I  mean  to  dine  in  the  state  apartments,  and 
to  have  a  reception  in  the  evening,  just  to  show  Rosenkrantz 
how  cheaply  we  hold  him.  Eh,  Stubber?  It  will  half  kill 
him  to  come  with  the  general  company !  " 

Stubber  gave  a  faint  sigh,  as  though  fresh  complications 
and  more  troubles  would  be  the  sole  results  of  this  brilliant 
tactique. 

"  If  I  were  well  served  and  faithfully  obeyed,  there  is  not 
a  sovereign  in  Europe  who  would  boast  a  more  independent 
position,  —  protected  by  my  bold  people,  envu-oned  by  my 
native  Apennines,  and  sustained  by  the  proud  consciousness 
—  the  proud  consciousness  —  that  I  cannot  injure  a  state 
which  has  not  sixpence  in  the  treasury !  Eh,  Stubber  ? " 
cried  he,  with  a  burst  of  merry  laughter.  "That's  the 
grand  feature  of  composure  and  dignity,  to  know  you  can't 
be  worse!  and  this,  we  Italian  princes  can  all  indulge  in. 
Look  at  the  Pope  himself,  he  is  collecting  the  imposts  a  year 
in  advance !  " 

"  I  hope  that  this  country  is  more  equitably  administered,'' 
said  Stubber. 

"  So  do  I,  sir.  Were  I  not  impressed  with  the  full  con- 
viction that  the  subjects  of  this  realm  were  in  the  very  fullest 
enjoyment  of  every  liberty  consistent  with  public  tranquillity, 
protected  in  the  maintenance  of  every  privilege  —  By  the 
way,  talking  of  privileges,  they  must  n't  play  '  Trottolo '  on 
the  high  roads ;  they  sent  one  of  those  cursed  wheels  flying 
between  the  legs  of  my  horse  yesterday,  so  that  if  I  had  n't 
been  an  old  cavalry  soldier,  I  must  have  been  thrown !  I 
ordered  the  whole  village  to  be  fined  three  hundred  scudi, 
one  half  of  which  to  be  sent  to  the  shrine  of  our  Lady  of 
Loretta,  who  really,  I  believe,  kept  me  in  my  saddle !  " 


384        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE- 

''If  the  people  had  sufficient  occupation,  they  'd  not  play 
'  Trottolo,'  "  said  Stubber,  sternly. 

' '  And  whose  the  fault  if  they  have  not,  su-  ?  How  many 
months  have  I  been  entreating  to  have  those  terraced  gar- 
dens finished  towards  the  sea?  I  want  that  olive  wood,  too, 
all  stubbed  up,  and  the  ground  laid  out  in  handsome  par- 
terres. How  repeatedly  have  I  asked  for  a  bridge  over  that 
ornamental  lake ;  and  as  to  the  island,  there  's  not  a  mag- 
nolia planted  in  it  yet.  Public  works,  indeed ;  find  me  the 
money,  Stubber,  and  I  '11  suggest  the  works.  Then,  there  's 
that  villa,  the  residence  of  those  English  people,  —  have  we 
not  made  a  purchase  of  it? " 

"No,  your  Highness;  we  could  not  agree  about  the 
terms,  and  I  have  just  heard  that  the  stranger  who  is  travel- 
ling with  Upton  is  going  to  buy  it." 

"  Stepping  in  between  me  and  an  object  I  have  in  view! 
And  in  my  own  Duchy,  too !  And  you  have  the  hardihood 
to  tell  me  that  you  knew  of  and  permitted  this  negotiation 
to  go  on?" 

"  There  is  nothing  in  the  law  to  prevent  it,  sir.  " 

"The  law!  What  impertinence  to  tell  me  of  the  law! 
Why,  sir,  it  is  I  am  the  law,  —  I  am  the  head  and  fountain 
of  all  law  here;  without  my  sanction,  what  can  presume 
to  be  legal?" 

"  I  opine  that  the  Act  which  admits  foreigners  to  possess 
property  in  the  state  was  passed  in  the  life  of  your  High- 
ness's  father." 

"  I  repeal  it,  then!  It  saps  the  nationality  of  a  people; 
it  is  a  blow  aimed  at  the  very  heart  of  independent  sover- 
eignty. I  may  stand  alone  in  all  Europe  on  this  point,  but 
I  will  maintain  it.  And  as  to  this  stranger,  let  his  passport 
be  sent  to  him  on  the  spot." 

"He  may  possibly  be  an  Englishman,  your  Highness; 
and  remember  that  we  have  already  a  troublesome  affair  on 
our  hands  with  that  other  youth,  who  in  some  way  claims 
Upton's  protection.  Had  we  not  better  go  more  cautiously 
to  work?     I  can  see  and  speak  with  him." 

' '  What  a  tyranny  is  this  English  interference  !  There  is 
not  a  land,  from  Sweden  to  Sicily,  where,  on  some  assumed 
ground  of  humanity,  your  Government  have  not  dared  to 
impose  their  opinions !     You  presume  to  assert  that  all  men 


HOW  A  SOVEREIGN  TREATS   WITH  HIS  MINISTER.    385 

must  feel  precisely  like  your  dogged  and  hard-headed  coun- 
trymen, and  that  what  are  deemed  grievances  in  your  land 
should  be  thought  so  elsewhere.  You  write  up  a  code  for 
the  whole  world,  built  out  of  the  materials  of  all  your 
national  prejudices,  your  insular  conceit,  —  ay,  and  out  of 
the  very  exigencies  of  your  bad  climate ;  and  then  you  say 
to  us,  blessed  in  the  enjoyment  of  light  hearts  and  God's 
sunshine,  that  we  must  think  and  feel  as  you  do !  I  am  not 
astonished  that  my  nobles  are  discontented  with  the  share 
you  possess  of  my  confidence;  they  must  long  have  seen 
how  little  suited  the  maxims  of  your  national  policy  are  to 
the  habits  of  a  happier  population !  " 

*'  The  people  are  far  better  than  their  nobles,  — that  I  'm 
sure  of,"  said  Stubber,  stoutly. 

"  You  want  to  preach  socialism  to  me,  and  hope  to  con- 
vert me  to  that  splendid  doctrine  of  communism  we  hear  so 
much  of.  You  are  a  dangerous  fellow,  —  a  very  dangerous 
fellow.  It  was  precisely  men  of  your  stamp  sapped  the 
monarchy  in  France,  and  with  it  all  monarchy  in  Europe." 

"  If  your  Highness  intends  Proserpine  to  run  at  Bologna, 
she  ought  to  be  put  in  training  at  once,"  said  Stubber, 
gravely ;  "  and  we  might  send  up  some  of  the  weeds  at  the 
same  time,  and  sell  them  off." 

*'  Well  thought  of,  Stubber ;  and  there  was  something  else 
in  my  head,  — what  was  it?" 

' '  The  suppression  of  the  San  Lorenzo  convent,  perhaps ; 
it  is  all  completed,  and  only  waits  your  Highness  to  sign  the 
deed." 

"  What  sum  does  it  give  us,  Stubber,  eh?  " 

''About  one  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  scudi,  sir,  of 
which  some  twenty  thousand  go  to  the  National  Mortgage 
Fund." 

"  Not  one  crown  of  it,  — not  a  single  bajocco,  as  I  am  a 
Christian  knight  and  a  true  gentleman.  I  need  it  all,  if  it 
were  twice  as  much.  If  we  incur  the  anger  of  the  Pope 
and  the  Sacred  College,  —  if  we  risk  the  thunders  of  the 
Vatican,  —  let  us  have  the  worldly  consolation  of  a  full 
purse." 

"I  advised  the  measure  on  wiser  grounds,  sir.  It  was 
not  fair  and  just  that  a  set  of  lazy  friars  should  be  leading 

25 


386  THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

lives  of  indolence  and  abundance  in  the  midst  of  a  hard- 
worked  and  ill-fed  peasantry." 

"  Quite  true ;  and  on  these  wise  grounds,  as  you  call 
them,  we  have  rooted  them  out.  We  only  wish  that  the 
game  were  more  plenty,  for  the  sport  amuses  us  vastly." 
And  he  clapped  Stubber  familiarly  on  the  shoulder,  and 
laughed  heartily  at  his  jest. 

It  was  in  this  happy  frame  of  mind  that  Stubber  always 
liked  to  leave  his  master ;  and  so,  promising  to  attend  to 
the  different  subjects  discussed  between  them,  he  bowed  and 
withdrew. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

SOCIAL   DIPLOMACIES. 

''What  an  insufferable  bore,  dear  Princess!"  sighed  Sir 
Horace,  as  he  opened  the  square-shaped  envelope  that 
contained  his  Royal  Highness's  invitation  tO  dinner. 

"I  mean  to  be  seriously  indisposed,"  said  Madame  de 
Sabloukoff;  "one  gets  nothing  but  chagrin  in  intercourse 
with  petty  Courts." 

"Like  provincial  journals,  they  only  reproduce  what  has 
appeared  in  the  metropolitan  papers,  and  give  you  old  gossip 
for  fresh  intelligence." 

"Or,  worse  again,  ask  you  to  take  an  interest  in  their 
miserable  '  localisms,'  —  the  microscopic  contentions  of 
insect  life." 

"  They  have  given  us  a  sentry  at  the  door,  I  perceive," 
said  Sir  Horace,  with  assumed  indifference. 

"  A  very  proper  attention !  "  remarked  the  lady,  in  a  tone 
that  more  than  half  implied  the  compliment  was  one  intended 
for  herself. 

"Have  you  seen  the  Chevalier  Stubber  yet?"  asked 
Upton. 

"No;  he  has  been  twice  here,  but  I  was  dressing,  or 
writing  notes.     And  you?" 

"I  told  him  to  come  about  two  o'clock,"  sighed  Sir 
Horace.     "  I  rather  like  Stubber." 

This  was  said  in  a  tone  of  such  condescension  that  it 
sounded  as  though  the  utterer  was  confessing  to  an  ami- 
cable weakness  in  his  nature,  —  "I  rather  like  Stubber." 

Though  there  was  something  meant  to  invite  agreement 
in  the  tone,  the  Princess  only  accepted  the  speech  with  a 
slight  motion  of  her  eyebrows,  and  a  look  of  half  unwilling 
assent. 


388        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

''I  know  he's  not  of  your  world,  dear  Princess,  but  he 
belongs  to  that  Anglo-Saxon  stock  we  are  so  prone  to 
associate  with  all  the  ideas  of  rugged,  unadorned  virtue." 

"  Rugged  and  unadorned  indeed !  "  echoed  the  lady. 

"And  yet  never  vulgar,"  rejoined  Upton,  —  "never 
affecting  to  be  other  than  he  is;  and,  stranger  still,  not 
self-opinionated  and  conceited." 

"I  own  to  you,"  said  she,  haughtily,  "that  the  whole 
Court  here  puts  me  in  mind  of  Hayti,  with  its  Marquis  of 
Orgeat  and  its  Count  Marmalade.  These  people,  elevated 
from  menial  station  to  a  mock  nobility,  only  serve  to  throw 
ridicule  upon  themselves  and  the  order  that  they  counter- 
feit. No  socialist  in  Europe  has  done  such  service  to  the 
cause  of  democracy  as  the  Prince  of  Massa !  " 

"  Honesty  is  such  a  very  rare  quality  in  this  world  that 
I  am  not  surprised  at  his  Highness  prizing  it  under  any 
garb.     Now,  Stubber  is  honest." 

"  He  says  so  himself,  I  am  told." 

"  Yes,  he  says  so,  and  I  believe  him.  He  has  been 
employed  in  situations  of  considerable  trust,  and  always 
acquitted  himself  well.  Such  a  man  cannot  have  escaped 
temptations,  and  yet  even  his  enemies  do  not  accuse  him 
of  venality." 

"Good  Heavens!  what  more  would  he  have  than  his 
legitimate  spoils?  He  is  a  Minister  of  the  Household,  with 
an  ample  salary ;  a  Master  of  the  Horse ;  an  inspector  of 
Woods  and  Forests ;  a  something  over  Church  lands ;  and 
a  Red  Cross  of  Massa  besides.  I  am  quite  '  made  up '  in 
his  dignities,  for  they  are  all  set  forth  on  his  visiting-card 
with  what  purports  to  be  a  coat  of  arms  at  top."  And,  as 
she  spoke,  she  held  out  the  card  in  derision. 

"That's  silly,  I  must  say,"  said  Upton,  smiling;  "and 
yet,  I  suppose  that  here  in  Massa  it  was  requisite  he  should 
assert  all  his  pretensions  thus  openly." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  she,  dryly. 

"  And,  after  all,"  said  Upton,  who  seemed  rather  bent  on 
a  system  of  mild  tormenting,  —  "after  all,  there  is  some- 
thing amiable  in  the  weakness  of  this  display,  —  it  smacks 
of  gratitude !  It  is  like  saying  to  the  world,  '  See  what  the 
munificence  of  my  master  has  made  me ! '  " 


SOCIAL  DIPLOMACIES.  389 

''What  a  delicate  compliment,  too,  to  his  nobles,  which 
proclaims  that  for  a  station  of  trust  and  probity  the  Prince 
must  recruit  from  the  kitchen  and  the  stables.  To  my 
thinking,  there  is  no  such  impertinent  delusion  as  that 
popular  one  which  asserts  that  we  must  seek  for  everything 
in  its  least  likely  place,  —  take  ministers  out  of  counting- 
houses,  and  military  commanders  from  shop-boards.  For 
the  treatment  of  weighty  questions  in  peace  or  war,  the 
gentleman  element  is  the  first  essential." 

"  Just  as  long  as  the  world  thinks  so,  dear  Princess ;  not 
an  hour  longer." 

The  Princess  arose,  and  walked  the  room  in  evident  dis- 
pleasure. She  half  suspected  that  his  objections  were  only 
devices  to  irritate,  and  she  determined  not  to  prolong  the 
discussion.  The  temptation  to  reply  proved,  however,  too 
strong  for  her  resolution,  and  she  said,  — 

"The  world  has  thought  so  for  some  centuries;  and 
when  a  passing  shade  of  doubt  has  shaken  the  conviction, 
have  not  the  people  rushed  from  revolution  into  actual 
bondage,  as  though  any  despotism  were  better  than  the 
tyranny  of  their  own  passions?" 

"I  opine,"  said  Upton,  calmly,  ''that  the  'prestige'  of 
the  gentleman  consists  in  his  belonging  to  an  '  order.' 
Now,  that  is  a  privilege  that  cannot  be  enjoyed  by  a  mere 
popular  leader.  It  is  like  the  contrast  between  a  club  and 
a  public  meeting." 

"  It  is  something  that  you  confess  these  people  have  no 
'prestige,'"  said  she,  triumphantly.  "Indeed,  their  pres- 
ence in  the  world  of  politics,  to  my  thinking,  is  a  mere 
symbol  of  change,  —  an  evidence  that  we  are  in  some  stage 
of  transition." 

"So  we  are,  madame;  there  is  nothing  more  true. 
Every  people  of  Europe  have  outgrown  their  governments, 
like  young  heirs  risen  to  manhood,  ordering  household 
affairs  to  their  will.  The  popular  voice  now  swells  above 
the  whisper  of  cabinets.  So  long  as  each  country  limits 
itself  to  home  questions,  this  spirit  will  attract  but  slight 
notice.  Let  the  issue,  however,  become  a  great  interna- 
tional one,  and  you  will  see  the  popular  will  declaring  wars, 
cementing  alliances,  and  signing  peaces  in  a  fashion  to 
make  statecraft  tremble !  " 


390        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"And  you  approve  of  this  change,  and  welcome  it?" 
asked  she,  derisively. 

"  I  have  never  said  so,  madame.  I  foresee  the  hurricane, 
that 's  all.  Men  like  Stubber  are  to  be  seen  almost  every- 
where throughout  Europe.  They  are  a  kind  of  declaration 
that,  for  the  government  and  guidance  of  mankind,  the 
possession  of  a  good  head  and  an  honest  heart  is  amply 
sufficient ;  that  rulers  neither  need  fourteen  quarterings  nor 
names  coeval  with  the  Roman  Empire." 

"  You  have  given  me  but  another  reason  to  detest  him," 
said  the  Princess,  angrily.  "  I  don't  think  I  shall  receive 
him  to-day." 

' '  But  you  want  to  speak  with  him  about  that  villa ;  there 
is  some  formality  to  be  gone  through  before  a  foreigner  can 
own  property  here.  I  think  you  promised  Glencore  you 
would  arrange  the  matter." 

She  made  no  reply,  and  he  continued:  "Poor  fellow!  a 
very  short  lease  would  suffice  for  his  time;  he  is  sinking 
rapidly.  The  conflict  his  mind  wages  between  hope  and 
doubt  has  hastened  all  the  symptoms  of  his  malady." 

"In  such  a  struggle  a  woman  has  more  courage  than  a 
man." 

"  Say  more  boldness.  Princess,"  said  Upton,  slyly. 

"I  repeat,  courage,  sir.  It  is  fear,  and  nothing  but  fear, 
that  agitates  him.  He  is  afraid  of  the  world's  sneer ;  afraid 
of  what  society  will  think,  and  say,  and  write  about  him ; 
afraid  of  the  petty  gossip  of  the  millions  he  will  never  see  or 
hear  of.  This  cowardice  it  is  that  checks  him  in  every 
aspiration  to  vindicate  his  wife's  honor  and  his  boy's  birth." 

"  Si  cela  se  pent,"  said  Upton,  with  a  very  equivocal 
smile. 

A  look  of  haughty  anger,  with  a  flush  of  crimson  on  her 
cheek,  was  the  only  answer  she  made  him. 

"  I  mean  that  he  is  really  not  in  a  position  to  prove  or 
disprove  anything.  He  assumed  certain  '  levities  '  —  I  sup- 
pose the  word  will  do  —  to  mean  more  than  levities;  he 
construed  indiscretions  into  grave  faults,  and  faults  into 
crimes.  But  that  he  did  all  this  without  sufficient  reason,  or 
thstt  he  now  has  abundant  evidence  that  he  was  mistaken,  I 
am  unable  to  say,  nor  is  it  with  broken  faculties  and  a  wan- 


SOCIAL  DIPLOMACIES.  391 

dering  intellect  that  he  can  be  expected  to  review  the  past 
and  deliver  judgment  on  it." 

"  The  whole  moral  of  which  is:  what  a  luckless  fate  is 
that  of  a  foreign  wife  united  to  an  English  husband !  " 

''  There  is  much  force  in  the  remark,"  said  Upton,  calmly. 

*'To  have  her  thoughts,  and  words,  and  actions  submitted 
to  the  standard  of  a  nation  whose  moral  subtleties  she  could 
never  comprehend ;  to  be  taught  that  a  certain  amount  of 
gloom  must  be  mixed  up  with  life,  just  as  bitters  are  taken 
for  tonics ;  that  ennui  is  the  sure  type  of  virtue,  and  low 
spkits  the  healthiest  condition  of  the  mind,  —  these  are  her 
first  lessons :  no  wonder  if  she  find  them  hard  ones. 

''To  be  told  that  all  the  harmless  familiarities  she  has 
seen  from  her  childhood  are  dangerous  freedoms,  all  the 
innocent  gayeties  of  the  world  about  her  are  snares  and  pit- 
falls, is  to  make  existence  little  better  than  a  penal  servitude, 
—  this  is  lesson  the  second.  While,  to  complete  her  educa- 
tion, she  is  instructed  how  to  assume  a  censorial  rigidity  of 
manner  that  would  shame  a  duenna,  and  a  condemnatory 
tone  that  assumes  to  arraign  all  the  criminals  of  society,  and 
pass  sentence  on  them.  How  amiable  she  may  become  in 
disposition,  and  how  suitable  as  a  companion  by  this  train- 
ing, you^  sir,  and  your  countrymen  are  best  able  to 
pronounce." 

"You  rather  exaggerate  our  demerits,  my  dear  Princess," 
said  Upton,  smiling.  "  We  really  do  not  like  to  be  so  very 
odious  as  you  would  make  us." 

"  You  are  excellent  people,  with  whom  no  one  can  live,  — 
that's  the  whole  of  it,"  said  she,  with  a  saucy  laugh.  "If 
your  friend  Lord  Glencore  had  been  satisfied  to  stay  at 
home  and  marry  one  of  his  own  nation,  he  might  have 
escaped  a  deal  of  unhappiness,  and  saved  a  most  amiable 
creature  much  more  sorrow  than  falls  to  the  lot  of  the  least 
fortunate  of  her  own  country.  I  conclude  you  have  some 
influence  over  him?" 

"As  much,  perhaps,  as  any  one;  but  even  that  says 
little." 

"  Can  you  not  use  it,  therefore,  to  make  him  repair  a 
great  wrong?" 

"  You  had  some  plan,  I  think?"  said  he,  hesitatingly. 


892        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

''  Yes  ;  I  have  written  to  her  to  come  down  here.  I  have 
pretended  that  her  presence  is  necessary  to  certain  formali- 
ties about  the  sale  of  the  villa.  I  mean  that  they  should 
meet,  without  apprising  either  of  them.  I  have  sent  the  boy 
out  of  the  way  to  Pontremoli  to  make  me  a  copy  of  some 
frescoes  there ;  till  the  success  of  my  scheme  be  decided,  I 
did  not  wish  to  make  him  a  party  to  it." 

''  You  don't  know  Glencore,  — at  least  as  I  know  him." 

''  There  is  no  reason  that  I  should,"  broke  she  in.  "  What 
I  would  try  is  an  experiment,  every  detail  of  which  I  would 
leave  to  chance.  Were  this  a  case  where  all  the  wrong  were 
on  one  side,  and  all  the  forgiveness  to  come  from  the  other, 
friendly  aid  and  interposition  might  well  be  needed;  but 
here  is  a  complication  which  neither  you,  nor  I,  nor  any  one 
else  can  pretend  to  unravel.  Let  them  meet,  therefore,  and 
let  Fate  —  if  that  be  the  name  for  it  —  decide  what  all  the 
prevention  and  planning  in  the  world  could  never  provide 
for." 

"  The  very  fact  that  their  meeting  has  been  plotted 
beforehand  will  suggest  distrust." 

"  Their  manner  in  meeting  will  be  the  best  answer  to 
that,"  said  she,  resolutely.  ''There  will  be  no  acting 
between  them,  depend  upon't." 

"  He  told  me  that  he  had  destroyed  the  registry  of  their 
marriage,  nor  does  he  know  where  a  single  witness  of  the 
ceremony  could  be  found." 

' '  I  don't  want  to  know  how  he  could  make  the  amende 
till  I  know  that  he  is  ready  to  do  it,"  said  she,  in  the  same 
calm  tone. 

"To  have  arranged  a  meeting  with  the  boy  had  perhaps 
been  better  than  this.  Glencore  has  not  avowed  it,  but  I 
think  I  can  detect  misgivings  for  his  treatment  of  the 
youth." 

"  This  was  my  first  thought,  and  I  spoke  to  young 
Massy  the  evening  before  Lord  Glencore  arrived.  I  led 
him  to  tell  me  of  his  boyish  days  in  Ireland  and  his  home 
there ;  a  stern  resolution  to  master  all  emotion  seemed  to 
pervade  whatever  he  said ;  and  though,  perhaps,  the  effort 
may  have  cost  him  much,  his  manner  did  not  betray  it. 
He  told  me  that  he  was   illegitimate,  that  the   secret  was 


SOCIAL  DIPLOMACIES.  393 

divulged  to  him  by  his  own  father,  that  he  had  never  heard 
who  his  mother  was,  nor  what  rank  in  life  she  occupied. 
When  I  said  that  she  was  one  in  high  station,  that  she  was 
alive  and  well,  and  one  of  my  own  dearest  friends,  a  sudden 
crimson  covered  his  face,  as  quickly  followed  by  a  sickly 
pallor;  and  though  he  trembled  in  every  limb,  he  never 
spoke  a  word.  I  endeavored  to  excite  in  him  some  desire 
to  learn  more  of  her,  if  not  to  see  her,  but  in  vain.  The 
hard  lesson  he  had  taught  himself  enabled  him  to  repress 
every  semblance  of  feeling.  It  was  only  when  at  last,  driven 
to  the  very  limits  of  my  patience,  I  abruptly  asked  him, 
'  Have  you  no  wish  to  see  your  mother  ?  '  that  his  coldness 
gave  way,  and,  in  a  voice  tremulous  and  thick,  he  said, 
'  My  shame  is  enough  for  myself.'  I  was  burning  to  say 
more,  to  put  before  him  a  contingency,  the  mere  shadow  of 
a  possibility  that  his  claim  to  birth  and  station  might  one 
day  or  other  be  vindicated.  I  did  not  actually  do  so,  but  I 
must  have  let  drop  some  chance  word  that  betrayed  my 
meaning,  for  he  caught  me  up  quickly,  and  said,  '  It  would 
come  too  late,  if  it  came  even  to-day.  I  am  that  which  I 
am  by  many  a  hard  struggle ;  you  '11  never  see  me  risk  a 
disappointment  in  life  by  any  encouragement  I  may  give  to 
hope.' 

"I  then  adverted  to  his  father;  but  he  checked  me  at 
once,  saying,  '  When  the  ties  that  should  be  closest  in  life 
are  stained  with  shame  and  dishonor,  they  are  bonds  of 
slavery,  not  of  affection.  My  debt  to  Lord  Glencore  is  the 
degradation  I  live  in,  —  none  other.  His  heritage  to  me  is 
the  undying  conflict  in  my  heart  between  what  I  once 
thought  I  was  and  what  I  now  know  I  am.  If  we  met, 
it  would  be  to  tell  him  so.'  In  a  word,  every  feature  of  the 
father's  proud  unforgivingness  is  reproduced  in  the  boy, 
and  I  dreaded  the  very  possibility  of  their  meeting.  If  ever 
Lord  Glencore  avow  his  marriage  and  vindicate  his  wife's 
honor,  his  hardest  task  will  be  reconciliation  with  this 
boy." 

''  All,  and  more  than  all,  the  evils  I  anticipated  have 
followed  this  insane  vengeance,"  said  Upton.  "I  begin  to 
think  that  one  ought  to  leave  a  golden  bridge  even  to  our 
revenge.  Princess." 


394        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCOEE. 

"  Assuredly,  wherever  a  woman  is  the  victim,"  said 
she,  smiling ;  "  for  you  are  so  certain  to  have  reasons  for 
distrusting  yourself." 

Upton  sat  meditating  for  some  time  on  the  plan  of  the 
Princess ;  had  it  only  originated  with  himself,  it  was  exactly 
the  kind  of  project  he  would  have  liked.  He  knew  enough 
of  life  to  be  aware  that  one  can  do  very  little  more  than 
launch  events  upon  the  great  ocean  of  destiny;  that  the 
pretension  to  guide  and  direct  them  is  oftener  a  snare  than 
anything  else;  that  the  contingencies  and  accidents,  the 
complications  too,  which  beset  every  move  in  life,  discon- 
cert all  one's  pre-arrangements,  so  that  it  is  rare  indeed 
when  we  are  able  to  pursue  the  same  path  towards  any 
object  by  which  we  have  set  out. 

As  the  scheme  was,  however,  that  of  another,  he  now 
scrutinized  it,  and  weighed  every  objection  to  its  accom- 
plishment, constantly  returning  to  the  same  difficulty,  as  he 
said,  — 

"  You  do  not  know  Glencore." 

"  The  man  who  has  but  one  passion,  one  impulse  in  life, 
is  rarely  a  difficult  study,"  was  the  measured  reply.  "  Lord 
Grlencore's  vengeance  has  worn  itself  out,  exactly  as  all 
similar  outbreaks  of  temper  do,  for  want  of  opposition. 
There  was  nothing  to  feed,  nothing  to  minister  to  it.  He 
sees  —  I  have  taken  care  that  he  should  see  —  that  his  bolt 
has  not  struck  the  mark ;  that  her  position  is  not  the  pre- 
carious thing  he  meant  to  make  it,  but  a  station  as  much 
protected  and  fenced  round  by  its  own  conventionalities  as 
that  of  any,  the  proudest  lady  in  society.  For  one  that 
dares  to  impugn  her,  there  are  full  fifty  ready  to  condemn 
him  ;  and  all  this  has  been  done  without  reprisal  or  recrimi- 
nation; no  partisanship  to  arraign  his  moroseness  and  his 
cruelty,  —  none  of  that  '  coterie '  defence  which  divides 
society  into  two  sections.  This,  of  course,  has  wounded  his 
pride,  but  it  has  not  stimulated  his  anger ;  but,  above  all,  it 
has  imparted  to  her  the  advantage  of  a  dignity  of  which  his 
vengeance  was  intended  to  deprive  her." 

"  You  must  be  a  sanguine  and  a  hopeful  spirit.  Princess, 
if  you  deem  that  such  elements  will  unite  happily  hereafter," 
said  Upton,  smiling. 


SOCIAL  DIPLOMACIES.  395 

'*  I  really  never  carried  my  speculations  so  far,"  replied 
she.  "  It  is  in  actual  life,  as  in  that  of  the  stage,  quite  suffi- 
cient to  accompany  the  actors  to  the  fall  of  the  curtain." 

''  The  Chevalier  Stubber,  madame,"  said  a  servant,  enter- 
ing, ''  wishes  to  know  if  you  will  receive  him." 

' '  Yes  —  no  —  yes.  Tell  him  to  come  in,"  said,  she  rapidly, 
as  she  resumed  her  seat  beside  the  fire. 


CHAPTER  L. 

ANTE-DINNER   REFLECTIONS. 

Notwithstanding  the  strongly  expressed  sentiments  of  the 
Princess  with  regard  to  the  Chevalier  Stubber,  she  received 
him  with  marked  faVor,  and  gave  him  her  hand  to  kiss,  with 
evident  cordiality.  As  for  Upton,  it  was  the  triumph  of  his 
manner  to  deal  with  men  separated  widely  from  himself  in 
station  and  abilities.  He  could  throw  such  an  air  of  good 
fellowship  into  the  smallest  attentions,  impart  such  a  glow 
of  kindliness  to  the  veriest  commonplaces,  that  the  very 
craftiest  and  shrewdest  could  never  detect.  As  he  leaned 
his  arm,  therefore,  on  Stubber's  shoulder,  and  smiled 
benignly  on  him,  you  would  have  said  it  was  the  affectionate 
meeting  with  a  long-absent  brother.  But  there  was  some- 
thing besides  this :  there  was  the  expansive  confidence 
accorded  to  a  trusty  colleague ;  and  as  he  asked  him  about 
the  Duchy,  its  taxation,  its  debt,  its  alliances  and  diffi- 
culties, you  might  mark  in  the  attention  he  bestowed  all  the 
signs  of  one  receiving  very  valuable  information. 

''  You  perceive,  Princess,"  said  he,  at  last,  "  Stubber 
quite  agrees  with  the  Duke  of  Cloudeslie,  —  these  small  states 
enjoy  no  real  independence." 

"  Then  why  are  they  not  absorbed  into  the  larger  nations 
about  them  ?  " 

*'They  have  their  uses;  they  are  like  substances  inter- 
posed between  conflicting  bodies,  which  receive  and  dimin- 
ish the  shock  of  collisions.  So  that  Prussia,  when  wanting 
to  wound  Austria,  only  pinches  Baden ;  and  Austria,  desi- 
rous of  insulting  Saxony,  '  takes  it  out'  on  Sigmaringen." 

"It's  a  pleasant  destiny  you  assign  them,"  said  she, 
laughing. 

''  Stubber  will  tell  you  I'm  not  far  wrong  in  my  appre- 
ciation." 


ANTE-DINNER  REFLECTIONS.  897 

'*  I  'm  not  for  what  they  call  '  mediatizing'  them  neither, 
my  Lady,"  said  Stubber,  who  generally  used  the  designation 
to  imply  his  highest  degree  of  respect.  "  That  may  all  be 
very  well  for  the  interests  of  the  great  states,  and  the  balance 
of  power,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing ;  but  we  ought  also  to 
bestow  a  thought  upon  the  people  of  these  small  countries, 
especially  on  the  inhabitants  of  their  cities.  What's  to 
become  of  them  when  you  withdraw  thek  courts,  and  throw 
their  little  capitals  into  the  position  of  provincial  towns  and 
even  villages  ?  " 

''  They  will  eke  out  a  livelihood  somehow,  my  dear  Stubber. 
Be  assured  that  they  '11  not  starve.  Masters  of  the  Horse 
may  have  to  keep  livery  stables  ;  chamberlains  turn  valets  ; 
ladies  of  the  bedchamber  descend  to  the  arts  of  millinery : 
but,  after  all,  the  change  will  be  but  in  name,  and  there 
will  not  be  a  whit  more  slavery  in  the  new  condition  than  in 
the  old  one." 

"  Well,  I'm  not  so  sure  they'll  take  the  same  comfortable 
view  of  it  that  you  do.  Sir  Horace,"  said  Stubber;  "nor 
can  I  see  who  can  possibly  want  livery  stables,  or  smart 
bonnets,  or  even  a  fine  butler,  when  the  resources  of  the 
Court  are  withdrawn,  and  the  city  left  to  its  own  devices." 

"  Stubber  suspects,"  said  Upton,  "  that  the  policy  which 
prevails  amongst  our  great  landed  proprietors  against  small 
holdings  is  that  which  at  present  influences  the  larger  states 
of  Europe  against  small  kingdoms ;  and  so  far  he  is  right. 
It  is  unquestionably  the  notion  of  our  day  that  the  influences 
of  government  require  space  for  their  exercise." 

' '  If  the  happiness  of  the  people  was  to  be  thought  of, 
which  of  course  it  is  not,"  said  Stubber,  "I'd  say  leave 
them  as  they  are." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Stubber,  you  are  now  drawing  the  question 
into  the  realm  of  the  imaginary.  What  do  any  of  us  know 
about  our  happiness  ?  " 

"Enough  to  eat  and  drink,  a  comfortable  roof  over  you, 
good  clothes,  nothing  oppressive  or  unequal  in  the  laws,  — 
these  go  for  a  good  way  in  the  kind  of  thing  I  mean ;  and 
let  me  observe,  sir,  it  is  a  great  privilege  little  states,  like 
little  people,  enjoy,  that  they  need  have  no  ambitions. 
They  don't  want  to  conquer  anybody ;  they  neither  ask  for 


398        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

the  mouth  of  a  river  here,  or  an  island  there ;  and  if  only 
let  alone,  they'll  never  disturb  the  peace  of  the  world  at 
large." 

''  My  dear  Stubber,  you  are  quite  a  proficient  at  state* 
craft,"  said  Upton,  with  the  very  least  superciliousness  in 
the  accent. 

*' Well,  I  don't  know,  Sir  Horace,"  said  the  other,  mod- 
estly, "  but  as  my  master's  means  are  about  the  double  of 
what  they  were  when  I  entered  his  service,  and  as  the 
people  pay  about  one-sixth  less  in  taxes  than  they  used  to 
do,  mayhap  I  might  say  that  I  have  put  the  saddle  on  the 
right  part  of  the  back." 

*'  Your  foreign  policy  does  not  seem  quite  as  unobjection- 
able as  your  home  management.  That  was  an  ugly  business 
about  that  boy  you  gave  up  to  the  Austrians." 

"Well,  there  were  mistakes  on  all  sides.  You  yourself, 
Sir  Horace,  gave  him  a  false  passport ;  his  real  name  turns 
out  to  be  Massy:  it  made  an  impression  on  me,  from  a 
circumstance  that  happened  when  I  was  a  young  fellow 
living  as  pad-groom  with  Prince  Tottskoy.  I  went  over 
on  a  lark  one  day  to  Capri,  and  was  witness  to  a  wedding 
there  of  a  young  Englishman  called  Massy." 

"  Were  you,  then,  present  at  the  ceremony?" 

''Yes,  sir;  and  what's  stranger  still,  I  have  a  voucher 
for  it." 

''  A  voucher  for  it.     What  do  you  mean?  " 

''It  was  this  way,  sir.  There  was  a  great  supper  for 
the  country  people  and  the  servants,  and  I  was  there,  and 
I  suppose  I  took  too  much  of  that  Capri  wine;  it  was 
new  and  hot  at  the  time,  and  I  got  into  a  row  of  some  sort, 
and  I  beat  the  Deputato  from  some  place  or  t'  other,  and  got 
locked  up  for  three  days ;  and  the  priest,  a  very  jolly  fellow, 
gave  me  under  his  handwriting  a  voucher  that  I  had  been  a 
witness  of  the  marriage,  and  all  the  festivities  afterwards, 
just  to  show  my  master  how  everything  happened.  But 
the  Prince  never  asked  me  for  any  explanations,  and  only 
said  he  '  hoped  I  had  amused  myself  well ; '  and  so  I 
kept  my  voucher  to  myself,  and  I  have  it  at  this  very 
hour." 

"  Will  you  let  me  see  it,  Stubber?" 


ANTE-DINNER  REFLECTIONS.  399 

*'  To  be  sure,  sir,  you  shall  have  it,  if  I  can  lay  my  hand 
on't  in  the  course  of  the  day." 

"  Let  me  beg  you  will  go  at  once  and  search  for  it;  it 
may  be  of  more  importance  than  you  know  of.  Go,  my 
dear  Stubber,  and  look  it  up." 

"  I  '11  not  lose  a  moment,  since  you  wish  to  have  it,"  said 
Stubber ;  ' '  and  I  am  sure  your  ladyship  will  excuse  my 
abrupt  departure." 

The  Princess  assured  him  that  her  own  interest  in  the 
document  was  not  inferior  to  that  of  Sir  Horace,  and  he 
hastened  off  to  prosecute  his  search. 

*'  Here,  then,  are  all  my  plans  altered  at  once,"  exclaimed 
she,  as  the  door  closed  after  him.  "If  this  paper  mean 
only  as  much  as  he  asserts,  it  will  be  ample  proof  of  mar- 
riage, and  lead  us  to  the  knowledge  of  all  those  who  were 
present  at  it." 

''  Yet  must  we  well  reflect  on  the  use  we  make  of  it,"  said 
Upton.  "  Glencore  is  now  evidently  balancing  what  course 
to  take.  As  his  chances  of  recovery  grow  less  each  day,  he 
seems  to  incline  more  and  more  to  repair  the  wrong  he  has 
done.  Should  we  show  on  our  side  the  merest  semblance 
of  compulsion,  I  would  not  answer  for  him." 

"  So  that  we  have  the  power,  as  a  last  resource,  I  am 
content  to  diplomatize,"  said  the  Princess;  "  but  you  must 
see  him  this  evening,  and  press  for  a  decision." 

''He  has  already  asked  me  to  come  to  him  after  we 
return  from  Court.  It  will  be  late,  but  it  is  the  hour  at 
which  he  likes  best  to  talk.  If  I  see  occasion  for  it,  I  can 
allude  to  what  Stubber  has  told  us ;  but  it  will  be  only  if 
driven  by  necessity  to  it." 

''  I  would  act  more  boldly  and  more  promptly,"  said  she. 

"  And  rouse  an  opposition,  perhaps,  that  already  is  be- 
coming dormant.  No,  I  know  Glencore  well,  and  will  deal 
with  him  more  patiently." 

"  From  the  Chevalier  Stubber,  your  Excellency,"  said  a 
servant,  presenting  a  sealed  packet ;  and  Sir  Horace  opened 
it  at  once.  The  envelope  contained  a  small  and  shabby  slip 
of  paper,  of  which  the  writing  appeared  faint  and  indistinct. 
It  was  dated  18 — ,  Church  of  St.  Lorenzo,  Capri,  and  went 
to  certify  that  Guglielmo  Stubber  had  been  present,  on  the 


400        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

morning  of  the  18th  August,  at  the  marriage  of  the  Most 
Noble  Signor  Massy  with  the  Princess  de  la  Torre,  having 
in  quality  as  witness  signed  the  registry  thereof ;  and  then 
went  on  to  state  the  circumstance  of  his  attendance  at  the 
supper,  and  the  event  which  ensued.  It  bore  the  name  of 
the  writer  at  foot,  Basilio  Nardoni,  priest  of  the  aforesaid 
church  and  village. 

"Little  is  Glencore  aware  that  such  an  evidence  as  this 
is  in  existence,"  said  Upton.  "  The  conviction  that  he  had 
his  vengeance  in  his  power  led  him  into  this  insane  project. 
He  fancied  there  was  not  a  flaw  in  that  terrible  indictment ; 
and  see,  here  is  enough  to  open  the  door  to  truth,  and  un- 
do every  detail  of  all  his  plotting.  How  strange  is  it  that 
the  events  of  life  should  so  often  concur  to  expose  the 
dark  schemes  of  men's  hearts;  proofs  starting  up  in  un- 
thought-of  places,  as  though  to  show  how  vain  was  mere 
subtlety  in  conflict  with  the  inevitable  law  ot^  Fate." 

"  This  Basilio  Nardoni  is  an  acquaintance  of  mine,"  said 
the  Princess,  bent  on  pursuing  another  train  of  thought; 
''he  was  chaplain  to  the  Cardinal  Caraffa,  and  frequently 
brought  me  communications  from  his  Eminence.  He  can  be 
found,  if  wanted." 

"It  is  unlikely  —  most  unlikely  —  that  we  shall  require 
him." 

"If  you  mean  that  Lord  Glencore  will  himself  make  all 
the  amends  he  can  for  a  gross  injury  and  a  fraud,  no  more 
is  necessary,"  said  she,  folding  the  paper,  and  placing  it 
in  her  pocket-book ;  "  but  if  anything  short  of  this  be  inten- 
ded, then  there  is  no  exposure  too  open,  no  publicity  too 
wide,  to  be  given  to  the  most  cruel  wrong  the  world  has 
ever  heard  of." 

"  Leave  me  to  deal  with  Glencore.  I  think  I  am  about 
the  only  one  who  can  treat  with  him." 

"And  now  for  this  dinner  at  Court,  for  I  have  changed 
my  mind,  and  mean  to  go,"  said  the  Princess.  "It  is  full 
time  to  dress,  I  believe." 

"It  is  almost  six  o'clock,"  said  Upton,  starting  up. 
"We  have  quite  forgotten  ourselves." 


CHAPTER  LI. 

CONFLICTING   THOUGHTS. 

The  Princess  Sabloukofif  found  —  not  by  any  means  an 
unfrequent  experience  in  life  —  that  the  dinner,  whose  dul- 
ness  she  had  dreaded,  turned  out  a  very  pleasant  affair. 
The  Prince  was  unusually  gracious.  He  was  in  good  spir- 
its, and  put  forth  powers  of  agreeability  which  had  been 
successful  in  one  of  less  distinction  than  himself.  He  pos- 
sessed eminently,  what  a  great  orator  once  panegyrized  as 
a  high  conversational  element,  "  great  variety,"  and  could 
without  abruptness  pass  from  subject  to  subject,  with  always 
what  showed  he  had  bestowed  thought  upon  the  theme  be- 
fore him.  Great  people  have  few  more  enviable  privileges 
than  that  they  choose  their  own  topics  for  conversation. 
Nothing  disagreeable,  nothing  wearisome,  nothing  inoppor- 
tune, can  be  intruded  upon  them.  When  they  have  no 
longer  anything  worth  saying,  they  can  change  the  subject 
or  the  company. 

His  Highness  talked  with  Madame  de  Sabloukoff  on  ques- 
tions of 'state  as  he  might  have  talked  with  a  Metternich ;  he 
even  invited  from  her  expressions  of  opinion  that  were 
almost  counsels,  sentiments  that  might  pass  for  warnings. 
He  ranged  over  the  news  of  the  day,  relating  occasionally 
some  little  anecdote,  every  actor  in  which  was  a  celebrity ; 
or  now  and  then  communicating  some  piece  of  valueless 
secrecy,  told  with  all  the  mystery  of  a  "great  fact;"  and 
then  he  discussed  with  Upton  the  condition  of  England,  and 
deplored,  as  all  Continental  rulers  do,  the  impending  down- 
fall of  that  kingdom,  from  the  growing  force  of  our  restless 
and  daring  democracy.  He  regretted  much  that  Sir  Horace 
was  not  still  in  office,  but  consoled  himself  by  reflecting  that 
the  pleasure  he  enjoyed  in  his  society  had  been  in  that  case 
denied  him.     In  fact,  what  with  insinuated  flatteries,  little 

26 


402        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

signs  of  confidence,  and  a  most  marked  tone  of  cordiality, 
purposely  meant  to  strike  beholders,  the  Prince  conducted 
the  conversation  right  royally,  and  played  ' '  Highness  "  to 
perfection. 

And  these  two  crafty,  keen-sighted  people,  did  they  not 
smile  at  the  performance,  and  did  they  not,  as  they  drove 
home  at  night,  amuse  themselves  as  they  recounted  the  little 
traits  of  the  great  man's  dupery?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  They 
were  charmed  with  his  gracious  manner,  and  actually  en- 
chanted with  his  agreeability.  Strong  in  their  self-esteem, 
they  could  not  be  brought  to  suspect  that  any  artifice  could 
be  practised  on  tliem^  or  that  the  mere  trickery  and  tinsel  of 
high  station  could  be  imposed  on  them  as  true  value.  Nay, 
they  even  went  further,  and  discovered  that  his  Highness 
was  really  a  very  remarkable  man,  and  one  who  received 
far  less  than  the  estimation  due  to  him.  His  flightiness 
became  versatility ;  his  eccentricity  was  all  originalty ;  and 
ere  they  reached  the  hotel,  they  had  endowed  him  with 
almost  every  moral  and  mental  quality  that  can  dignify 
manhood. 

"It  is  really  a  magnificent  turquoise,"  said  the  Princess, 
gazing  with  admiration  at  a  ring  the  Prince  had  taken  from 
his  own  finger  to  present  to  her. 

"How  absurd  is  that  English  jealousy  about  foreign 
decorations!  I  was  obliged  to  decline  the  Sed  Cross  of 
Massa  which  his  Highness  proposed  to  confer  on  me. 
A  monarchy  that  wants  to  emulate  a  republic  is'  simply 
ridiculous." 

"  You  English  are  obliged  to  pay  dear  for  your  hypoc- 
risies;  and  you  ought,  for  you  really  love  them."  And 
with  this  taunt  the  carriage  stopped  at  the  door  of  the  inn. 

As  Upton  passed  up  the  stairs,  the  waiter  handed  him  a 
note,  which  he  hastily  opened ;  it  was  from  Glencore,  and 
in  these  words  :  — 

Dear  Upton,  —  I  can  bear  this  suspense  no  longer ;  to  remain 
here  canvassing  with  myself  all  the  doubts  that  beset  me  is  a  tor- 
ture I  cannot  endure.  I  leave,  therefore,  at  once  for  Florence. 
Once  there,  —  where  I  mean  to  see  and  hear  for  myself,  —  I  can 
decide  what  is  to  be  the  fate  of  the  few  days  or  weeks  that  yet 
remain  to  —  Yours, 

Glencore. 


CONFLICTING  THOUGHTS.  403 

'    ''  He  is  gone,  then,  —  his  Lordship  has  started?  " 

''  Yes,  your  Excellency,  he  is  by  this  time  near  Lucca, 
for  he  gave  orders  to  have  horses  ready  at  all  the  stations." 

''  Read  that,  madame,"  said  Upton,  as  he  once  more  found 
himself  alone  with  the  Princess  ;  "  you  will  see  that  all  your 
plans  are  disconcerted.     He  is  off  to  Florence." 

Madame  de  Sabloukoff  read  the  note,  and  threw  it  care- 
lessly on  the  table.  "  He  wants  to  forgive  himself,  and  only 
hesitates  how  to  do  so  gracefully,"  said  she,  sneeringly. 

"I  think  you  are  less  than  just  to  him,"  said  Upton, 
mildly;  ''his  is  a  noble  nature,  disfigured  by  one  grand 
defect." 

"  Your  national  character,  like  your  language,  is  so  full  of 
incongruities  arid  contradictions  that  I  am  not  ashamed  to 
own  myself  unequal  to  master  it ;  but  it  strikes  me  that  both 
one  and  the  other  usurp  freedoms  that  are  not  permitted  to 
others.  At  all  events,  I  am  rejoiced  that  he  has  gone.  It 
is  the  most  wearisome  thing  in  life  to  negotiate  with  one  too 
near  you.  Diplomacy  of  even  the  humblest  kind  requires 
distance." 

"  You  agree  with  the  duellist,  I  perceive,"  said  he, 
laughing,  "  that  twelve  paces  is  a  more  fatal  distance  than 
across  a  handkerchief :  proximity  begets  tremor." 

"You  have  guessed  my  meaning  correctly,"  said  she; 
*'  meanwhile,  I  must  write  to  her  not  to  come  here.  Shall  I 
say  that  we  will  be  in  Florence  in  a  day  or  two  ?  " 

"  I  was  just  thinking  of  those  Serravezza  springs,"  said 
Upton ;  ' '  they  contain  a  bi-chloride  of  potash,  which  Staub, 
in  his  treatise,  says,  '  is  the  element  wanting  in  all  nervous 
organizations.'  " 

"  But  remember  the  season,  — we  are  in  mid- winter ;  the 
hotels  are  closed." 

"  The  springs  are  running.  Princess  ;  '  the  earth,'  as  Mos- 
chus  says,  '  is  a  mother  that  never  ceases  to  nourish.'  I  do 
suspect  I  need  a  little  nursing." 

The  Princess  understood  him  thoroughly.  Bhe  well  knew 
that  whenever  the  affairs  of  Europe  followed  an  unbroken 
track,  without  anything  eventful  or  interesting,  Sir  Horace 
fell  back  upon  his  maladies  for  matter  of  occupation.  She 
had,  however,  now  occasion  for  his  advice  and  counsel,  and 


404        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

by  no  means  concurred  in  Ms  plan  of  spending  some  days, 
if  not  weeks,  in  the  dreary  mountain  solitudes  of  Serravezza. 
"  You  must  certainly  consult  Zanetti  before  you  venture  on 
these  waters,"  said  she;  *Hhey  are  highly  dangerous  if 
taken  without  the  greatest  circumspection ;  "  and  she  gave  a 
catalogue  of  imaginary  calamities  which  had  befallen  various 
illustrious  and  gifted  individuals,  to  which  Upton  listened 
with  profound  attention. 

"  Very  well,"  sighed  he,  as  she  finished,  "  it  must  be  as 
you  say.  I'll  see  Zanetti,  for  I  cannot  afford  to  die  just 
yet.  That  '  Greek  question '  will  have  no  solution  without 
me,  —  no  one  has  the  key  of  it  but  myself.  That  Panslavic 
scheme,  too,  in  the  Principalities  attracts  no  notice  but 
mine ;  and  as  to  Spain,  the  policy  I  have  devised  for  that 
country  requires  all  the  watchfulness  I  can  bestow  on  it. 
No,  Princess,"  —  here  he  gave  a  melancholy  sigh, — ''we 
must  not  die  at  this  moment.  There  are  just  four  men  in 
Europe ;  I  doubt  if  she  could  get  on  with  three." 

''What  proportion  do  you  admit  as  to  the  other  sex?" 
said  she,  laughing. 

"  I  only  know  of  one^  madame  ;  "  and  he  kissed  her  hand 
with  gallantry.     "  And  now  for  Florence,  if  you  will." 

It  is  by  no  means  improbable  that  our  readers  have  a 
right  to  an  apology  at  our  hands  for  the  habit  we  have 
indulged  of  lingering  along  with  the  two  individuals  whose 
sayings  and  doings  are  not  directly  essential  to  our  tale ;  but 
is  not  the  story  of  every-day  life  our  guarantee  that  incidents 
and  people  cross  and  re-cross  the  path  we  are  going,  attract- 
ing our  attention,  engaging  our  sympathy,  enlisting  our 
energies,  even  in  our  most  anxious  periods?  Such  is  the 
world ;  and  we  cannot  venture  out  of  reality.  Besides  this, 
we  are  disposed  to  think  that  the  moral  of  a  tale  is  often 
more  effectively  conveyed  by  the  characters  than  by  the 
catastrophe  of  a  story.  The  strange,  discordant  tones  of 
the  human  heart,  blending,  with  melody  the  purest,  sounds 
of  passionate  meaning,  are  in  themselves  more  powerful 
lessons  than  all  the  records  of  rewarded  vu'tue  and  all  the 
calendars  of  punished  vice.  The  nature  of  a  single  man  can 
be  far  more  instructive  than  the  history  of  every  accident 
that  befalls  him. 


CONFLICTING  THOUGHTS.  405 

It  is,  then,  with  regret  that  we  leave  the  Princess  and 
Sir  Horace  to  pursue  their  journey  alone.  "We  confess  a 
liking  for  their  society,  and  would  often  as  soon  loiter  in 
the  by-paths  that  they  follow  as  journey  in  the  more  recog- 
nized high-road  of  our  true  story.  Not  having  the  con- 
viction that  our  sympathy  is  shared  by  our  readers,  we  again 
return  to  the  fortunes  of  Glencore. 

When  Lord  Glencore' s  carriage  underwent  the  usual 
scrutiny  exercised  towards  travellers  at  the  gate  of  Florence, 
and  prying  officials  poked  their  lanterns  in  every  quarter,  in 
all  the  security  of  their  "caste,"  two  foot  travellers  were 
rudely  pushed  aside  to  await  the  time  till  the  pretentious 
equipage  passed  on.  They  were  foreigners,  and  their  effects, 
which  they  carried  in  knapsacks,  required  examination. 

"  We  have  come  a  long  way  on  foot  to-day,"  said  the 
younger  in  a  tone  that  indicated  nothing  of  one  asking  a 
favor.     "Can't  we  have  this  search  made  at  once?" 

"Whisht!  whisht!"  whispered  his  companion,  in  Eng- 
lish; "wait  till  the  Prince  moves  on,  and  be  polite  with 
them  all." 

"  I  am  seeking  for  nothing  in  the  shape  of  compliment," 
said  the  other ;  ' '  there  is  nt)  reason  why,  because  I  am  on 
foot,  I  must  be  detained  for  this  man." 

Again  the  other  remonstrated,  and  suggested  patience. 

"What  are  you  grumbling  about,  young  fellow?"  cried 
one  of  the  officers.  "  Do  you  fancy  yourself  of  the  same 
consequence  as  Milordo?  And  see,  he  must  wait  his  time 
here." 

"We  came  a  good  way  on  foot  to-day,  sir,"  interposed 
the  elder,  eagerly,  taking  the  reply  on  himself,  "  and  we 're 
tired  and  weary,  and  would  be  deeply  obliged  if  you'd 
examine  us  as  soon  as  you  could." 

"  Stand  aside  and  wait  your  turn,"  was  the  stern  response. 

"You  almost  deserve  the  fellow's  insolence,  Billy,"  said 
the  youth;  "  a  crown-piece  in  his  hand  had  been  far  more 
intelligible  than  your  appeal  to  his  pity."  And  he  threw 
himself  wearily  down  on  a  stone  bench. 

Aroused  by  the  accent  of  his  own  language,  Lord  Glen- 
core sat  up  in  his  carriage,  and  leaned  out  to  catch  sight 
of  the  speaker;    but  the  shadow  of   the  overhanging  roof 


406         THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

concealed  him  from  vie^.  ''Can't  you  suffer  those  two 
poor  fellows  to  move  on?"  whispered  his  Lordship,  as  he 
placed  a  piece  of  money  in  the  officer's  hand;  "they  look 
tired  and  jaded." 

*' There/ thank  his  Excellency  for  his  kindness  to  you, 
and  go  your  way,"  muttered  the  officer  to  Billy,  who,  with- 
out well  understanding  the  words,  drew  nigh  the  window; 
but  the  glass  was  already  drawn  up,  the  postilions  were 
once  more  in  their  saddles,  and  away  dashed  the  cumbrous 
carriage  in  all  the  noise  and  uproar  that  is  deemed  the 
proper  tribute  to  rank. 

The  youth  heard  that  they  were  free  to  proceed,  with  a 
half-dogged  indifference,  and  throwing  his  knapsack  on  his 
shoulders,  moved  away. 

"  I  asked  them  if  they  knew  one  of  her  name  in  the  city, 
and  they  said  '  No,'  "  said  the  elder. 

"But  they  so  easily  mistake  names:  how  did  you  call 
her?" 

"I  said  'Harley,  —  la  Signora  Harley,'"  rejoined  the 
other;  "and  they  were  positive  she  was  not  here.  They 
never  heard  of  her." 

"  Well,  we  shall  know  soon,"  sighed  the  youth,  heavily. 
"Is  not  this  an  inn,  Billy?" 

"Ay  is  it,  but  not  one  for  our  purpose, — it's  like  a 
palace.  They  told  me  of  the  '  Leone  d'  Oro '  as  a  quiet  place 
and  cheap." 

"  I  don't  care  where  or  what  it  be ;  one  day  and  night  here 
will  do  all  I  want.  And  then  for  Genoa,  Billy,  and  the  sea, 
and  the  world  beyond  the  sea,"  said  the  youth,  with  increas- 
ing animation.  "You  shall  see  what  a  different  fellow  I'll 
be  when  I  throw  behind  me  forever  the  traditions  of  this 
dreary  life  here." 

"  I  know  well  the  good  stuff  that 's  in  ye,"  said  the  other, 
affectionately. 

"Ay,  but  you  don't  know  that  I  have  energy  as  well  as 
pride,"  said  the  other. 

"There's  nothing  beyond  your  reach  if  you  will  only 
strive  to  get  it,"  said  he  again,  in  the  same  voice. 

"You're  an  arrant  flatterer,  old  boy,"  cried  the  youth, 
throwing   his   arm   around   him;    "but  I  would  not  have 


CONFLICTING  THOUGHTS.  407 

you  otherwise  for  the  world.  There  is  a  happiness  even 
in  the  self-deception  of  your  praise  that  I  could  not  deny 
myself." 

Thus  chatting,  they  arrived  at  the  humble  door  of  the 
"  Leone  d'  Oro,"  where  they  installed  themselves  for  the 
night.  It  was  a  house  frequented  by  couriers  and  vetturini, 
and  at  the  common  table  for  this  company  tiiey  now  took 
their  places  for  supper.  The  Carnival  was  just  drawing 
to  its  close,  and  all  the  gayeties  of  that  merry  season  were 
going  forward.  Nothing  was  talked  of  but  the  brilliant 
festivities  of  the  city,  the  splendid  balls  of  the  Court,  and 
the  magnificent  receptions  in  the  houses  of  the  nobility. 

"The  Palazzo  della  Torre  takes  the  lead  of  all,"  said 
one.  "There  were  upwards  of  three  thousand  masks  there 
this  evening,  I  'm  told,  and  the  gardens  were  just  as  full  as 
the  salons." 

"  She  is  rich  enough  to  afford  it  well,"  cried  another.  "  I 
counted  twenty  servants  in  white  and  gold  liveries  on  the 
stairs  alone.'' 

"  Were  you  there,  then?  "  asked  the  youth,  whom  we  may 
at  once  call  by  his  name  of  Massy. 

"Yes,  sir;  a  mask  and  a  domino,  such  as  you  see 
yonder,  are  passports  everywhere  for  the  next  twenty-four 
hours ;  and  though  I  'm  only  a  courier,  I  have  been  chatting 
with  duchesses,  and  exchanging  smart  sayings  with  coun- 
tesses, in  almost  every  great  house  in  Florence  this  evening. 
The  Pergola  Theatre,  too,  is  open,  and  all  the  boxes  crowded 
with  visitors." 

"You  are  a  stranger,  as  I  detect  by  your  accent,"  said 
another,  "  and  you  ought  to  have  a  look  at  a  scene  such  as 
you'll  never  witness  in  your  own  land." 

"What  would  come  of  such  freedoms  with  us,  Billy?" 
whispered  Massy.  "Would  our  great  lords  tolerate,  even 
for  a  few  hours,  the  association  with  honest  fellows  of  this 
stamp  ?  " 

"There  would  be  danger  in  the  attempt,  anyhow,"  said 
Billy. 

"  What  calumnies  would  be  circulated,  what  slanderous 
tales  would  be  sent  abroad,  under  cover  of  this  secrecy! 
How  many  a  coward  stab  would  be  given  in  the  shadow 


408        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

of  that  immunity!  For  one  who  would  use  the  privilege 
for  mere  amusement,  how  many  would  turn  it  to  account  for 
private  vengeance." 

"Are  you  quite  certain  such  accidents  do  not  occur 
here  ?  " 

"That  society  tolerates  the  custom  is  the  best  answer 
to  this.  There  may  be,  for  aught  we  know,  many  a  cruel 
vengeance  executed  under  favor  of  this  secrecy.  Many 
may  cover  their  faces  to  unmask  their  hearts;  but,  after 
all,  they  continue  to  observe  a  habit  which  centuries  back 
then-  forefathers  followed ;  and  the  inference  fairly  is,  that 
it  is  not  baneful.  For  my  own  part,  I  am  glad  to  have  an 
opportunity  of  witnessing  these  Saturnalia,  and  to-morrow 
I  '11  buy  a  mask  and  a  domino,  Billy,  and  so  shall  you  too. 
Why  should  we  not  have  a  day's  fooling,  like  the  rest  ?  " 

Billy  shook  his  head  and  laughed,  and  they  soon  after- 
wards parted  for  the  night. 

While  young  Massy  slept  soundly,  not  a  dream  disturbing 
the  calmness  of  his  rest.  Lord  Glencore  passed  the  night  in 
a  state  of  feverish  excitement,  i-ed  on  by  some  strange, 
mysterious  influence,  which  he  could  as  little  account  for  as 
resist,  he  had  come  back  to  the  city  where  the  fatal  incident 
of  his  life  had  occurred.  With  what  purpose,  he  could  not 
tell.  It  was  not,  indeed,  that  he  had  no  object  in  view.  It 
was  rather  that  he  had  so  many  and  conflicting  ones  that 
they  marred  and  destroyed  each  other.  No  longer  under  the 
guidance  of  calm  reason,  his  head  wandered  from  the  past 
to  the  present  and  the  future,  disturbed  by  passion  and 
excited  by  injured  self-love.  At  one  moment,  sentiments 
of  sorrow  and  shame  would  take  the  ascendant ;  and  at  the 
next,  a  vindictive  desire  to  follow  out  his  vengeance  and 
witness  the  ruin  that  he  had  accomplished.  The  unbroken, 
unrelieved  pressure  of  one  thought,  for  years  and  years  of 
time,  had  at  last  undermined  his  reasoning  powers;  and 
every  attempt  at  calm  judgment  or  reflection  was  sure  to  be' 
attended  with  some  violent  paroxysm  of  irrepressible  rage. 

There  are  men  in  whom  the  combative  element  is  so 
strong  that  it  usurps  all  their  guidance,  and  when  once  they 
are  enlisted  in  a  contest,  they  cannot  desist  till  the  struggle 
be  decided  for  or  against  them.     Such  was  Glencore.     To 


CONFLICTING  THOUGHTS.  409 

discover  that  the  terrible  injury  he  had  inflicted  on  his  wife 
had  not  crushed  her  nor  driven  her  with  shame  from  the 
world,  aroused  once  more  all  the  vindictive  passions  of  his 
nature.  It  was  a  defiance  he  could  not  withstand.  Guilty 
or  innocent,  it  mattered  not ;  she  had  braved  him,  —  at  least 
so  he  was  told,  —  and  as  such  he  had  come  to  see  her  with  his 
own  eyes.  If  this  was  the  thought  which  predominated  in  his 
mind,  others  there  were  that  had  their  passing  power  over 
him,  —  moments  of  tenderness,  moments  in  which  the  long 
past  came  back  again,  full  of  softening  memories;  and  then 
he  would  burst  into  tears  and  cry  bitterly. 

If  he  ventured  to  project  any  plan  for  reconciliation  with 
her  he  had  so  cruelly  wronged,  he  as  suddenly  bethought 
him  that  her  spirit  was  not  less  high  and  haughty  than  his 
own.  She  had,  so  far  as  he  could  learn,  never  quailed 
before  his  vengeance ;  how,  then,  might  he  suppose  would 
she  act  in  the  presence  of  his  avowed  injustice?  Was  it 
not,  besides,  too  late  to  repair  the  wrong?  Even  for  his 
boy's  sake,  would  it  not  be  better  if  he  inherited  sufficient 
means  to  support  an  honorable  life,  unknown  and  unnoticed, 
than  bequeath  to  him  a  name  so  associated  with  shame  and 
sorrow  ? 

*'Who  can  tell,"  he  would  cry  aloud,  "what  my  harsh 
ti'eatment  may  not  have  made  him?  what  resentment  may 
have  taken  root  in  his  young  heart?  what  distrust  may  have 
eaten  into  his  nature?  If  I  could  but  see  him  and  talk  with 
him  as  a  stranger,  —  if  I  could  be  able  to  judge  him  apart 
from  the  influences  that  my  own  feelings  would  create, — 
even  then,  what  would  it  avail  me?  I  have  so  sullied  and 
tarnished  a  proud  name  that  he  could  never  bear  it  without 
reproach.  '  Who  is  this  Lord  Glencore  ?  '  people  would  say. 
'  What  is  the  strange  story  of  his  birth  ?  Has  any  one  yet 
got  at  the  truth?  Was  the  father  the  cruel  tyrant,  or  the 
mother  the  worthless  creature,  we  hear  tell  of?  Is  he  even 
legitimate,  and,  if  so,  why  does  he  walk  apart  from  his 
equals,  and  live  without  recognition  by  his  order?'  This  is 
the  noble  heritage  I  am  to  leave  him,  — this  the  proud  posi- 
tion to  which  he  is  to  succeed !  And  yet  Upton  says  that 
the  boy's  rights  are  inalienable ;  that,  think  how  I  may,  do 
what  I  will,  the  day  on  which  I  die,  he  is  the  rightful  Lord 


410        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

Glencore.  His  claim  may  lie  dormant,  the  proofs  may  be 
buried,  but  that,  in  truth  and  fact,  he  will  be  what  all  my 
subterfuge  and  all  my  falsehood  cannot  deny  him.  And 
then,  if  the  day  should  come  that  he  asserts  his  right,  —  if, 
by  some  of  those  wonderful  accidents  that  reveal  the  mys- 
teries of  the  world,  he  should  succeed  to  prove  his  claim,  — 
what  a  memory  will  he  cherish  of  me  I  Will  not  every  sor- 
row of  his  youth,  every  indignity  of  his  manhood,  be  asso- 
ciated with  my  name?  Will  he  or  can  he  ever  forgive  him 
who  defamed  the  mother  and  despoiled  the  son? 

In  the  terrible  conflict  of  such  thoughts  as  these  he  passed 
the  night ;  intervals  of  violent  grief  or  passion  alone  break- 
ing the  sad  connection  of  such  reflections,  till  at  length  the 
worn-out  faculties,  incapable  of  further  exercise,  wandered 
away  into  incoherency,  and  he  raved  in  all  the  wildness  of 
insanity. 

It  was  thus  that  Upton  found  him  on  his  arrival. 


CHAPTER  LH. 

f 

MAJOR   SCARESBY's   VISIT. 

Down  the  crowded  thoroughfare  of  the  Borgo  d*  Ognisanti 
the  tide  of  Carnival  mummers  poured  unceasingly.  Hide- 
ous masks  and  gay  dominos,  ludicrous  impersonations  and 
absurd  satires  on  costume,  abounded,  and  the  entu*e  popula- 
tion seemed  to  have  given  themselves  up  to  merriment,  and 
were  fooling  it  to  the  top  o'  their  bent.  Bands  of  music  and 
chorus-singers  from  the  theatre  filled  the  air  with  their  loud 
strains,  and  carriages  crowded  with  fantastic  figures  moved 
past,  pelting  the  bystanders  with  mock  sweetmeats,  and 
covering  them  with  showers  of  flour.  It  was  a  season  of 
universal  license,  and,  short  of  actual  outrage,  all  was  per- 
mitted for  the  time.  Nor  did  the  enjoyment  of  the  scene 
seem  to  be  confined  to  the  poorer  classes  of  the  people,  who 
thus  for  the  nonce  assumed  equality  with  their  richer  neigh- 
bors ;  but  all,  even  to  the  very  highest,  mixed  in  the  wild 
excitement  of  the  pageant, '  and  took  the  rough  treatment 
they  met  with  in  perfect  good-humor.  Dukes  and  princes, 
white  from  head  to  foot  with  the  snowy  shower,  went  laugh- 
ingly along,  and  grave  dignitaries  were  fain  to  walk  arm-in- 
arm with  the  most  ludicrous  monstrosities,  whose  gestures 
turned  on  them  the  laughter  of  all  around.  Occasionally  — 
but,  it  must  be  owned,  rarely  —  some  philosopher  of  a 
sterner  school  might  be  seen  passing  hurriedly  along,  his 
severe  features  and  contemptuous  glances  owning  to  little 
sympathy  with  the  mummery  about  him ;  but  even  he  had  to 
compromise  his  proud  disdain,  and  escape,  as  best  he  might, 
from  the  indiscriminate  justice  of  the  crowd.  To  detect  one 
of  this  stamp,  to  follow,  and  turn  upon  him  the  full  tide  of 
popular  fury,  seemed  to  be  the  greatest  triumph  of  the  scene. 
When  such  a  victim  presented  himself,  all  joined  in  the  pur- 


412        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

suit :  nun^s  embraced,  devils  environed  him,  angels  perched 
on  his  shoulders,  mock  wild  boars  rushed  between  his  legs ; 
his  hat  was  decorated  with  feathers,  his  clothes  inundated 
with  showers  of  meal  or  flour ;  hackney-coachmen,  dressed 
as  ladies,  fainted  in  his  arms,  and  semi-naked  bacchanals 
pressed  drink  to  his  lips.  In  a  word,  each  contributed  what 
he  might  of  attention  to  the  luckless  individual,  whose 
resistance  —  if  he  were  so  impolitic  as  to  make  any  —  only 
increased  the  zest  of  the  persecution. 

An  instance  of  this  kind  had  now  attracted  general  atten- 
tion, nor  was  the  amusement  diminished  by  the  discovery 
that  he  was  a  foreigner  and  an  Englishman.  Impertinent 
allusions  to  his  nation,  absurd  attempts  at  his  language, 
ludicrous  travesties  of  what  were  supposed  to  be  his  native 
customs,  were  showered  on  him,  in  company  with  a  hailstorm 
of  mock  bonbons  and  lime-pellets  ;  till,  covered  with  powder, 
and  outraged  beyond  all  endurance,  he  fought  his  way  into 
the  entrance  of  the  Hotel  d'ltalie,  followed  by  the  cries  and 
laughter  of  the  populace. 

"Cursed  tomfoolery!  Confounded  asses!"  cried  he,  as 
he  found  himself  in  a  harbor  of  refuge.  "What  the  devil 
fun  can  they  discover  in  making  each  other  dirtier  than  their 
daily  habits  bespeak  them?  I  say,"  cried  he,  addressing  a 
waiter,  "  is  Sir  Horace  Upton  staying  here?  Well,  will  you 
say  Major  Scaresby  —  be  correct  in  the  name  ~  Major 
Scaresby  requests  to  pay  his  respects." 

"  His  Excellency  will  see  you,  sir,"  said  the  man,  return- 
ing quickly  with  the  reply. 

From  the  end  of  a  room,  so  darkened  by  closed  shutters 
and  curtains  as  to  make  all  approach  difficult,  a  weak  voice 
called  out,  "  Ah,  Scaresby,  how  d'  ye  do?  I  was  just  think- 
ing to  myself  that  I  could  n't  be  in  Florence,  since  I  had  not 
seen  you." 

"You  are  too  good,  too  kind.  Sir  Horace,  to  say  so," 
said  the  other,  with  a  voice  whose  tones  by  no  means  corre- 
sponded with  the  words. 

"  Yes,  Scaresby,  everything  in  this  good  city  is  in  a  man- 
ner associated  with  your  name.  Its  intrigues,  its  quarrels, 
its  loves  and  jealousies,  its  mysteries,  in  fine,  have  had  no 
such  interpreter  as  yourself  within  the   memory  of   man! 


MAJOR  SCARESBY'S  VISIT.  413 

What  a  pity  there  were  no  Scaresbys  in  the  Cinque  Cento ! 
How  sad  there  were  none  of  your  family  here  in  the  Medician 
period !  What  a  picture  might  we  then  have  had  of  a  society 
fuller  even  than  the  present  of  moral  delinquencies."  There 
was  a  degree  of  pomposity  in  the  manner  he  uttered  this  that 
served  to  conceal  in  a  great  measure  its  sarcasm. 

''I  am  much  flattered  to  learn  that  I  have  ever  en- 
lightened your  Excellency  on  any  subject,"  said  the  Maipr, 
dryly. 

"That  you  have,  Scaresby.  I  was  a  mere  dabbler  in 
moral  toxicology  when  I  heard  your  first  lecture,  and,  I 
assure  you,  I  was  struck  by  your  knowledge.  And  how  is 
the  dear  city  doing?" 

''It  is  masquerading  to-day,"  said  Scaresby,  "and,  con- 
sequently, far  more  natural  than  at  any  other  period  of  the 
whole  year.  Smeared  faces  and  dirty  finery,  —  exactly  its 
suitable  wear ! " 

"  Who  are  here.  Major?     Any  one  that  one  knows?  " 

"  Old  Millington  is  here." 

"The  Marquis?" 

"Yes,  he's  here,  fresh  painted  and  lacquered;  his  eyes 
twinkling  with  a  mock  lustre  that  makes  him  look  like  an  old 
po'-chaise  with  a  pair  of  new  lamps !  " 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!  "  laughed  Sir  Horace,  encouragingly. 

"  And  then  —  there 's  Mab worth." 

"Sir  Paul  Mab  worth?" 

' '  Ay,  the  same  old  bore  ag  ever !  He  has  got  off  one  of 
Burke's  speeches  on  the  India  Bill  by  heart,  and  says  that  he 
spoke  it  on  the  question  of  the  grant  for  Maynooth.  Oh,  if 
poor  Burke  could  only  look  up !  " 

"Look  down!  you  ought  to  say,  Scaresby;  depend 
upon 't,  he  's  not  on  the  Opposition  benches  still !  " 

"I  hate  the  fellow,"  said  Scaresby,  whose  ill-temper  was 
always  augmented  by  any  attempted  smartness  of  those  he 
conversed  with.  "He  has  taken  Walmsley's  cook  away 
from  him,  and  never  gives  any  one  a  dinner." 

"  That  is  shameful ;  a  perfect  dog  in  the  manger !  " 

"  Worse ;  he 's  a  dog  without  any  manger !  For  he  keeps 
his  house  on  board-wages,  and  there  's  literally  nothing  to 
eat!     That  poor  thing,  Strejowsky." 


414  THE   FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

*'  Oh,  Olga  Strejowsky,  do  you  mean?     What  of  her?  " 

"Why,  there's  another  husband  just  turned  up.  They 
thought  he  was  killed  in  the  Caucasus,  but  he  was  only  pass- 
ing a  few  years  in  Siberia;  and  so  he  has  come  back,  and 
claims  all  the  emeralds.  You  remember,  of  course,  that 
famous  necklace,  and  the  great  drops  !  They  belonged  once 
to  the  Empress  Catherine,  but  Mabworth  says  that  he  took 
the  concern  with  all  its  dependencies ;  he  '11  give  up  his  bar- 
gain, but  make  no  compromise," 

''  She  's  growing  old,  I  fancy." 

"  She's  younger  than  the  Sabloukoff  by  five  good  years, 
and  they  tell  me  she  plays  Beauty  to  this  hour." 

Ah,  Scaresby,  had  you  known  what  words  were  these 
you  have  just  uttered,  or  had  you  only  seen  the  face  of  him 
who  heard  them,  you  had  rather  bitten-^ur  tongue  off  than 
suffered  it  to  fashion  them! 

"Brignolles  danced  with  her  at  that  celebrated /e/e  given 
by  the  Prince  of  Orleans  something  like  eight-and-thirty 
years  ago." 

''  And  how  is  the  dear  Duke?"  asked  Upton,  sharply. 

"  Just  as  you  saw  him  at  the  Court  of  Louis  XVIII. ;  he 
swaggers  a  little  more  as  he  gets  more  feeble  about  the  legs, 
and  he  shows  his  teeth  when  he  laughs,  more  decidedly  since 
his  last  journey  to  Paris.  Devilish  clever  fellows  these 
modern  dentists  are !  He  wants  to  marry ;  I  suppose  you  've 
heard  it." 

''  Not  a  word  of  it.     Who  is, the  happy  fair?  " 

'''  The  Nina,  as  they  call  her  now.  She  was  one  of  the 
Delia  Torres,  who  married,  or  didn't  many,  Glencore. 
Don't  you  remember  him  ?  He  was  Colonel  of  the  Eleventh, 
and  a  devil  of  a  martinet  he  was." 

"  I  remember  him,"  said  Upton,  dryly. 

"Well,  he  ran  off  with  one  of  those  girls,  and  some  say 
they  were  married  at  Capri,  —  as  if  it  signified  what  happened 
at  Capri !  She  was  a  deuced  good-looking  girl  at  the  time, 
—  a  coquette,  you  know,  —  and  Glencore  was  one  of  those 
stiff  English  fellows  that  think  every  man  is  making  up  to 
his  wife;  he  drank  besides." 

"No,  pardon  me,  there  you  are  mistaken.  I  knew  him 
intimately;  Glencore  was  as  temperate  as  myself." 


MAJOR  SCARESBY'S  VISIT.  415 

"  I  have  it  from  Lowther,  who  used  to  take  him  home  at 
night ;  he  said  Glencore  never  went  to  bed  sober !  At  all 
jevenfe7  sbe  hated  him,  and  detested  his  miserly  habits." 

"  Another  mistake,  my  dear  Major.  Glencore  was  never 
what  is  called  a  rich  man,  but  he  was  always  a  generous 
one ! " 

*'I  suppose  you'll  not  deny  that  he  used  to  thrash  her? 
Ay,  and  with  a  horsewhip  too !  " 

''Come,  come,  Scaresby;  this  is  really  too  coarse  for 
mere   jesting." 

"Jest?  By  Jove!  it  was  very  bitter  earnest.  She  told 
Brignolles  all  about  it.  I  'm  not  sure  she  did  n  't  show  him 
the  marks." 

''  Take  my  word  for  it,  Scaresby,"  said  Upton,  dropping 
his  voice  to  a  low  but  measured  tone,  ' '  this  is  a  base  cal- 
umny, and  the  Duke  of  Brignolles  no  more  circulated  such 
a  story  than  I  did.  He  is  a  man  of  honor,  and  utterly 
incapable  of  it." 

''  I  can  only  repeat  that  I  believe  it  to  be  perfectly  true !  " 
said  Scaresby,  calmly.  "  Nobody  here  ever  doubted  the 
story." 

''  I  cannot  say  what  measure  of  charity  accompanies  your 
zeal  for  truth  in  this  amiable  society,  Scaresby,  but  I  can 
repeat  my  assertion  that  this  must  be  a  falsehood." 

"You  will  find  it  very  hard,  nevertheless,  to  bring  any 
one  over  to  your  opinion,"  retorted  the  unappeasable  Major. 
"  He  was  a  fellow  everybody  hated ;  proud  and  superci- 
lious to  all,  and  treated  his  wife's  relations  —  who  were 
of  far  better  blood  than  himself  —  as  though  they  were 
canaille." 

A  loud  crash,  as  if  of  something  heavy  having  fallen, 
here  interrupted  their  colloquy,  and  Upton  sprang  from  his 
seat  and  hastened  into  the  adjoining  room.  Close  beside 
the  door  —  so  close  that  he  almost  fell  over  it  in  entering  — 
lay  the  figure  of  Lord  Glencore.  In  his  efforts  to  reach  the 
door  he  had  fainted,  and  there  he  lay,  —  a  cold,  clammy 
sweat  covering  his  livid  features,  and  his  bloodless  lips 
slightly   parted. 

It  was  almost  an  hour  ere  his  consciousness  returned; 
but  when  it  did,  and  he  saw  Upton  alone  at  his  bedside, 


416        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

he  pressed  his  hand  within  his  own,  and  said,  ''I  heard 
it  all,  Upton,  every  word!  I  tried  to  reach  the  room; 
I  got  out  of  bed  —  and  was  already  at  the  door  —  when 
my  brain  reeled,  and  my  heart  grew  faint.  It  may  have 
been  malady,  it  might  be  passion,  —  I  know  not ;  but  I  saw 
no  more.  He  is  gone,  —  is  he  not  ?  "  cried  he,  in  a  faint 
whisper. 

^'  Yes,  yes,  —  an  hour  ago ;  but  you  will  think  nothing  of 
what  he  said,  when  I  tell  you  his  name.  It  was  Scaresby,  — 
Major  Scaresby ;  one  whose  bad  tongue  is  the  one  solitary 
claim  by  which  he  subsists  in  a  society  of  slanderers !  " 

"  And  he  is  gone !  "  repeated  the  other,  in  a  tone  of  deep 
despondency. 

"Of  course  he  is.  I  never  saw  him  since;  but  be 
assured  of  what  I  have  just  told  you,  that  his  libels  carry 
no  reproach.     He  is  a  calumniator  by  temperament." 

"I'd  have  shot  him,  if  I  could  have  opened  the  door," 
muttered  Glencore  between  his  teeth;  but  Upton  heard  the 
words  distinctly.  "What  am  I  to  this  man,"  cried  he, 
aloud,  "or  he  to  me,  that  I  am  to  be  arraigned  by  him  on 
charges  of  any  kind,  true  or  false?  What  accident  of  for- 
tune makes  him  my  judge?  Tell  me  that,  sir.  Who  has 
appealed  to  him  for  protection?  Who  has  demanded  to  be 
righted  at  his  hand?" 

"Will  you  not  hear  me,  Glencore,  when  I  say  that  his 
slanders  have  no  sting?  In  the  circles  wherein  he  mixes, 
it  is  the  mere  scandal  that  amuses ;  for  its  veracity,  there  is 
not  one  that  cares.  You,  or  I,  or  some  one  else,  supply  the 
name  of  an  actor  in  a  disreputable  drama,  the  plot  of  which 
alone  interests,  not  the  performer." 

"  And  am  I  to  sit  tamely  down  under  this  degradation?  " 
exclaimed  Glencore,  passionately.  ' '  I  have  never  sub- 
scribed to  this  dictation.  There  is  little,  indeed,  of  life  left 
to  me,  but  there  is  enough,  perhaps,  to  vindicate  myself 
against  men  of  this  stamp.  You  shall  take  him  a  message 
frpm  me;  you  shall  tell  him  by  what  accident  I  overheard 
his  discoveries." 

"  My  dear  Glencore,  there  are  graver  interests,  far  wor- 
thier cares,  than  any  this  man's  name  can  enter  into,  which 
should  now  engage  you." 


*  MAJOR  SCARESBY'S  VISIT.  417 

*'  I  say  he  shall  have  my  provocation,  and  that  within  an 
hour !  "  cried  Glencore,  wildly. 

"  You  would  give  this  man  and  his  words  a  consequence 
that  neither  have  ever  possessed,"  said  Upton,  in  a  mild 
and  subdued  tone.  ''Remember,  Glencore,  when  I  left 
with  you  this  morning  that  paper  of  Stubber's  it  was  with 
a  distinct  understanding  that  other  and  wiser  thoughts  than 
those  of  vengeance  were  to  occupy  your  attention.  I  never 
scrupled  to  place  it  in  your  hands ;  I  never  hesitated  about 
confiding  to  you  what  in  a  lawyer's  phrase  would  be  a  proof 
against  you.  When  an  act  of  justice  was  to  be  done,  I 
would  not  stain  it  by  the  faintest  shadow  of  coercion.  I 
left  you  free,  I  leave  you  still  free,  from  everything  but  the 
dictates  of  your  own  honor." 

Glencore  made  no  reply,  but  the  conflict  of  his  thoughts 
seemed  to  agitate  him  greatly. 

"  The  man  who  has  pursued  a  false  path  in  life,"  said 
Upton,  calmly,  "has  need  of  much  coui-age  to  retrace  his 
steps ;  but  courage  is  not  the  quality  you  fail  in,  Glencore, 
so  that  I  appeal  to  you  with  confidence." 

"I  have  need  of  courage,"  muttered  Glencore;  "you 
say  truly.  What  was  it  the  doctor  said  this  morning,  — 
aneurism?" 

Upton  moved  his  head  with  an  inclination  barely  perceptible. 

"  What  a  Nemesis  there  is  in  nature,"  said  Glencore, 
with  a  sickly  attempt  to  smile,  "that  passion  should  beget 
malady!  I  never  knew,  physically  speaking,  that  I  had 
a  heart  —  till  it  was  broken.  So  that,"  resumed  he,  in  a 
more  agreeable  tone,  "death  may  ensue  at  any  moment  — 
on  the  least  excitement?" 

"  He  warned  you  gravely  on  that  point,"  said  Upton, 
cautiously. 

"  How  strange  that  I  should  have  come  through  that  trial 
of  an  hour  ago !  It  was  not  that  the  struggle  did  not  move 
me.  I  could  have  torn  that  fellow  limb  from  limb,  Upton, 
if  I  had  but  the  strength!  But  see,"  cried  he,  feebly, 
"what  a  poor  wretch  I  am;  I  cannot  close  these  fingers!  " 
and  he  held  out  a  worn  and  clammy  hand  as  he  spoke. 
"Do  with  me  as  you  will,"  said  he,  after  a  pause;  "I 
ought  to  have  followed  your  counsels  long  ago !  " 

27 


418        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

Upton  was  too  subtle  an  anatomist  of  human  motives  to 
venture  by  even  the  slightest  word  to  disturb  a  train  of 
thought  which  any  interference  could  only  damage.  As 
the  other  still  continued  to  meditate,  and,  by  his  manner 
and  look,  in  a  calmer  and  more  reflective  spirit,  the  wily 
diplomatist  moved  noiselessly  away,  and  left  him  alone. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 


A   MASK   IN    CARNIVAL   TIME. 


From  the  gorgeous  halls  of  the  Pltti  Palace  down  to  the 
humblest  chamber  in  Camaldole,  Florence  was  a  scene  of 
rejoicing.  As  night  closed  in,  the  crowds  seemed  only  to 
increase,  and  the  din  and  clamor  to  grow  louder.  It  seemed 
as  though  festivity  and  joy  had  overflowed  from  the  houses, 
filling  the  streets  with  merrj^-makers.  In  the  clear  cold  air, 
groups  feasted,  and  sang,  and  danced,  all  mingling  and 
intermixing  with  a  freedom  that  showed  how  thoroughly  the 
spirit  of  pleasure-seeking  can  annihilate  the  distinctions  of 
class.  The  soiled  and  tattered  nmmmer  leaned  over  the 
carriage-door  and  exchanged  compliments  with  the  masked 
duchess  within.  The  titled  noble  of  a  dozen  quarterings 
stopped  to  pledge  a  merry  company  who  pressed  him  to 
drain  a  glass  of  Monte  Pulciano  with  them.  There  was 
a  perfect  fellowship  between  those  whom  fortune  had  so 
widely  separated,  and  the  polished  accents  of  high  society 
were  heard  to  blend  with  the  quaint  and  racy  expressions 
of  the  "  people." 

Theatres  and  palaces  lay  open,  all  lighted  "a  giorno." 
The  whole  population  of  the  city  surged  and  swayed  to  and 
fro  like  a  mighty  sea  in  motion,  making  the  air  resound  the 
while  with  a  wild  mixture  of  sounds,  wherein  music  and 
laughter  were  blended.  Amid  the  orgie,  however,  not  an 
act,  not  a  word  of  rudeness,  disturbed  the  general  content. 
It  was  a  season  of  universal  joy,  and  none  dared  to  destroy 
the  spell  of  pleasure  that  presided. 

Our  task  is  not  to  follow  the  princely  equipages  as  they 
rolled  in  unceasing  tides  within  the  marble  courts,  nor  yet 
to  track  the  strong  flood  that  poured  through  the  wide 
thoroughfares  in  all  the  wildest  exuberance  of   their   joy. 


420        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

Our^  business  is  with  two  travellers,  who,'  well  weary  of 
being  for  hours  a-foot,  and  partly  sated  with  pleasure,  sat 
down  to  rest  themselves  on  a  bench  beside  the  Arno. 

'*  It  is  glorious  fooling,  that  must  be  owned,  Billy,"  said 
Charles  Massy,  ''and  the  spirit  is  most  contagious.  How 
little  have  you  or  I  in  common  with  these  people !  We 
scarce  can  catch  the  accents  of  the  droll  allusions,  we 
cannot  follow  the  strains  of  their  rude  songs,  and  yet  we 
are  carried  away  like  the  rest  to  feel  a  wild  enjoyment  in  all 
this  din,  and  glitter,  and  movement.  How  well  they  do 
it,  too!" 

''That's  all  by  rayson  of  concentration,"  said  Billy, 
gravely.  "  They  are  highly  charged  with  fun.  The  ould 
adage  says,  '  Non  semper  sunt  Saturnalia,'  —  It  is  not  every 
day  Morris  kills  a  cow." 

"  Yet  it  is  by  this  very  habit  of  enjoyment  that  they  know 
how  to  be  happy." 

"To  be  sure  it  is,"  cried  Billy ;  "  they  have  a  ritual  for  it 
which  we  have  n't ;  as  Cicero  tells  us,  'In  jucundis  nullum , 
periculum.'     But  ye  see  we  have  no  notion  of  any  amuse- 
ment without   a   dash   of   danger   through  it,   if   not   even 
cruelty ! " 

"The  French  know  how  to  reconcile  the  two  natures; 
they  are  brave,  and  light-hearted  too." 

"And  the  Irish,  Mister  Charles,  —  the  Irish  especially," 
said  Billy,  proudly;  "for  I  was  alludin' to  the  English 
in  what  I  said  last.  The  '  versatile  ingenium '  is  all  our 
own. 

He  goes  into  a  tent  and  he  spends  half  a-crown, 

Comes  out,  meets  a  friend,  and  for  love  knocks  him  down. 

There  's  an  elegant  philosophy  in  that,  now,  that  a  Saxon 
would  never  see !  For  it  is  out  of  the  very  fulness  of  the 
heart,  ye  may  remark,  that  Pat  does  this,  just  as  much  as  to 
say,  '  I  don't  care  for  the  expense ! '  He  smashes  a  skull 
just  as  he  would  a  whole  dresser  of  crockery- ware  !  There 's 
something  very  grand  in  that  recklessness." 

The  tone  of  the  remark,  and  a  certain  wild  energy  of  his 
manner,  showed  that  poor  Billy's  faculties  were  slightly 
under  the  influences  of  the  Tuscan  grape;  and  the  youth 
smiled  at  sight  of  an  excess  so  rare. 


A  MASK  IN   CARNIVAL  TIME.  421 

''  How  hard  it  must  be,"  said  Massy,  "to  go  back  to  the" 
workaday  routine  of  life  after  one  of  these  outbursts, — to 
resume  not  alone  the  drudgery,  but  all  the  slavish  obser- 
vances that  humble  men  yield  to  great  ones  !  " 

" 'Tis  what  Bacon  says,  'There's  nothing  so  hard  as 
unlearnin'  anything ; '  and  the  proof  is  how  few  of  us  ever  do 
it !  We  always  go  on  mixin'  old  thoughts  with  new,  — 
puttin*  different  kinds  of  wine  into  the  same  glass,  and  then 
wonderin'  we  are  not  invigorated !  " 

"  You're  in  a  mood  for  moralizing  to-night,  I  see,  Billy," 
said  the  other,  smiling. 

*'  The  levities  of  life  always  puts  me  on  that  thrack,  just 
as  too  bright  a  day  reminds  me  to  take  out  an  umbrella  with 
me." 

' '  Yet  I  do  not  see  that  all  your  observation  of  the  world 
has  indisposed  you  to  enjoy  it,  or  that  you  take  harsher 
views  of  life  the  closer  you  look  at  it." 

*'  Quite  the  reverse ;  the  more  I  see  of  mankind,  the  more 
I  'm  struck  with  the  fact  that  the  very  wickedest  and  worst 
can't  get  rid  of  remorse!  'Tis  something  out  of  a  man's 
nature  entirely  —  something  that  dwells  outside  of  him  — 
sets  him  on  to  commit  a  crime ;  and  then  he  begins  to  rayson 
and  dispute  with  the  temptation,  just  like  one  keepin'  bad 
company,  and  listenin'  to  impure  notions  and  evil  sugges- 
tions day  after  day ;  as  he  does  this,  he  gets  to  have  a  taste 
for  that  kind  of  low  society,  —  I  mane  with  his  own  bad 
thoughts,  — till  at  last  every  other  ceases  to  amuse  him. 
Look !  what 's  that  there ;  where  are  they  goin'  with  all  the 
torches  there  ?  "  cried  he,  suddenly,  springing  up  and  point- 
ing to  a  dense  crowd  that  passed  along  the  street.  It  was  a 
band  of  music,  dressed  in  a  quaint  mediaeval  costume,  on  its 
way  to  serenade  some  palace. 

"  Let  us  follow  and  listen  to  them,  Billy,"  said  the  youth ; 
and  they  arose  and  joined  the  throng. 

Following  in  the  wake  of  the  dense  mass,  they  at  last 
reached  the  gates  of  a  great  palace,  and  after  some  waiting 
gained  access  to  the  spacious  courtyard.  The  grim  old 
statues  and  armorial  bearings  shone  in  the  glare  of  a  hundred 
torches,  and  the  deep  echoes  rang  with  the  brazen  voices  of 
the  band  as,  pent  up  within  the  quadrangle,  the  din  of  a 


422        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

large  orchestra  arose.  On  a  great  terrace  overhead  numer- 
ous figures  were  grouped,  —  indistinctly  seen  from  the  light 
of  the  salons  within,  —  but  whose  mysterious  movements 
completed  the  charm  of  a  very  interesting  picture. 

Some  wrapped  in  shawls  to  shroud  them  from  the  night 
air,  some,  less  cautiously  emerging  from  the  rooms  within, 
leaned  over  the  marble  balustrade  and  showed  their  jewelled 
arms  in  the  dim  hazy  light,  while  around  and  about  them 
gay  uniforms  and  costumes  abounded.  As  Billy  gave  him- 
self up  to  the  excitement  of  the  music,  young  Massy,  more 
interested  by  the  aspect  of  the  scene,  gazed  unceasingly  at 
the  balcony.  There  was  just  that  shadowy  indistinctness 
in  the  whole  that  invested  it  with  a  kind  of  romantic  interest, 
and  he  could  weave  stories  and  incidents  from  those  whose 
figures  passed  and  repassed  before  him.  He  fancied  that 
in  their  gestures  he  could  trace  many  meanings,  and  as  the 
bent-down  heads  approached,  and  their  hands  touched,  he 
fashioned  many  a  tale  in  his  own  mind  of  moving  fortunes. 

''And  see,  she  comes  again  to  that  same  dark  angle  of 
the  terrace,"  muttered  he  to  himself,  as,  shrouded  in  a  large 
mantle  and  with  a  half  mask  on  her  features,  a  tall  and  grace- 
ful figure  passed  into  the  place  he  spoke  of.  "  She  looks 
like  one  among,  but  not  of,  them.  How  much  of  heart- weari- 
ness is  there  in  that  attitude ;  how  full  is  it  of  sad  and  tender 
melancholy !  Would  that  I  could  see  her  face !  My  life 
on 't  that  it  is  beautiful !  There,  she  is  tearing  up  her 
bouquet ;  leaf  by  leaf  the  rose-leaves  are  falling,  as  though 
one  by  one  hopes  are  decaying  in  her  heart."  He  pushed 
his  way  through  the  dense  throng  till  he  gained  a  corner  of 
the  court  where  a  few  leaves  and  flower-stems  yet  strewed 
the  ground ;  carefully  gathering  up  these,  he  crushed  them 
in  his  hand,  and  seemed  to  feel  as  though  a  nearer  tie  bound 
him  to  the  fair  unknown.  How  little  ministers  to  the  hope ; 
how  infinitely  less  again  will  feed  the  imagination  of  a 
young  heart ! 

Between  them  now  there  was,  to  his  appreciation,  some 
mysterious  link.  "Yes,"  he  said  to  himself,  "true,  I 
stand  unknown,  unnoticed ;  yet  it  is  to  me  of  all  the  thou- 
sands here  she  could  reveal  what  is  passing  in  that  heart ! 
I   know  it,  I  feel  it!     She  has  a  sorrow  whose  burden  I 


A  MASK  IN  CARNIVAL  TIME.  423 

might  help  to  bear.  There  is  cruelty,  or  treachery,  or  false- 
hood arrayed  against  her ;  and  through  all  the  splendor  of 
the  scene  —  all  the  wild  gayety  of  the  orgie  —  some  spectral 
image  never  leaves  her  side !  I  would  stake  existence  on  it 
that  I  have  read  her  aright !  " 

Of  all  the  intoxications  that  can  entrance  the  human 
faculties,  there  is  none  so  maddening  as  that  produced  by 
giving  full  sway  to  an  exuberant  imagination.  The  be- 
wilderment resists  every  effort  of  reason,  and  in  its  onward 
course  carries  away  its  victims  with  all  the  force  of  a 
mountain  torrent.  A  winding  stair,  long  unused  and  partly 
dilapidated,  led  to  the  end  of  the  terrace  where  she  stood, 
and  Massy,  yielding  to  some  strange  impulse,  slowly  and 
noiselessly  crept  up  this  till  he  gained  a  spot  only  a  few 
yards  removed  from  her.  The  dark  shadow  of  the  build- 
ing almost  completely  concealed  his  figure,  and  left  him 
free  to  contemplate  her  unnoticed. 

Some  event  of  interest  within  had  withdrawn  all  from 
the  terrace  save  herself;  the  whole  balcony  was  suddenly 
deserted,  and  she  alone  remained,  to  all  seeming  lost  to  the 
scene  around  her.  It  was  then  that  she  removed  her  mask, 
and  suffering  it  to  fall  back  on  her  neck,  rested  her  head 
pensively  on  her  hand.  Massy  bent  over  eagerly  to  try  and 
catch  sight  of  her  face ;  the  effort  he  made  startled  her,  she 
looked  round,  and  he  cried  out,  "Ida  — Ida!  My  heart 
could  not  deceive  me !  "  In  another  instant  he  had  climbed 
the  balcony  and  was  beside  her. 

''I  thought  we  had  parted  forever,  Sebastian,"  said  she; 
"  you  told  me  so  on  the  last  night  at  Massa." 

"  And  so  I  meant  when  I  said  it,"  cried  he  ;  "  nor  is  our 
meeting  now  of  my  planning.  I  came  to  Florence,  it  is 
true,  to  see,  but  not  to  speak  with  you,  ere  I  left  Europe 
forever.  For  three  entire  days  I  have  searched  the  city 
to  discover  where  you  lived,  and  chance  —  I  have  no  better 
name  for  it —  chance  has  led  me  hither." 

"  It  is  an  unkind  fortune  that  has  made  us  meet  again," 
said  she,  in  a  voice  of  deep  melancholy. 

"I have  never  known  fortune  in  any  other  mood,"  said 
he,  fiercely.  "•  When  clouds  show  me  the  edge  of  their  silver 
linings,  I  only  prepare  myself  for  storm  and  hurricane." 


424        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"  I  know  you  have  endured  much,"  said  she,  in  a  voice  of 
deeper  sadness. 

''You  know  but  little  of  what  I  have  endured,"  rejoined 
he,  sternly.  "You  saw  me  taunted,  indeed,  with  my 
humble  calling,  insulted  for  my  low  birth,  expelled  igno- 
miniously  from  a  house  where  my  presence  had  been  sought 
for ;  and  yet  all  these,  grievous  enough,  are  little  to  other 
evils  I  have  had  to  bear." 

''  By  what  unhappy  accident,  what  mischance,  have  you 
made  her  your  enemy,  Sebastian?  She  would  not  even 
suffer  me  to  speak  to  you.  She  went  so  far  as  to  tell  me 
that  there  was  a  reason  for  the  dislike,  —  one  which,  if  she 
could  reveal,  I  would  never  question." 

"How  can  I  tell?"  cried  he,  angrily.  "I  was  born,  I 
suppose,  under  an  evil  star ;  for  nothing  prospers  with  me." 

"  But  can  you  even  guess  her  reasons?  "  said  she,  eagerly. 

"  No,  except  it  be  the  presumption  of  one  in  my  condition 
daring  to  aspire  to  one  in  yours;  and  that,  as  the  world 
goes,  would  be  reason  enough.  It  is  probable,  too,  that  I 
did  not  state  these  pretensions  of  mine  over  delicately.  I 
told  her,  with  a  frankness  that  was  not  quite  acceptable, 
I  was  one  who  could  not  speak  of  birth  or  blood.  She 
did  not  like  the  coarse  word  I  applied  to  myself,  and  I 
will  not  repeat  it;  and  she  ventured  to  suggest  that,  had 
there  not  appeared  some  ambiguity  in  her  own  position,  / 
could  never  have  so  far  forgotten  mine  as  to  advance  such 
pretensions  —  " 

"Well,  and  then?"  cried  the  girl,  eagerly. 

"Well,  and  then,"  said  he,  deliberately,  "I  told  her  I 
had  heard  rumors  of  the  kind  she  alluded  to,  but  to  me  they 
carried  no  significance ;  that  it  was  for  you  I  cared.  The 
accidents  of  life  around  you  had  no  influence  on  my  choice ; 
you  might  be  all  that  the  greatest  wealth  and  highest  blood 
could  make  you,  or  as  poor  and  ignoble  as  myself,  without 
any  change  in  my  affections.  '  These,'  said  she,  '  are  the 
insulting  promptings  of  that  English  breeding  which  you  say 
has  mixed  with  your  blood,  and  if  for  no  other  cause  would 
make  me  distrust  you.' 

"  '  Stained  as  it  may  be,'  said  I,  '  that  same  English  bla.  \ 
is  the  best  pride  I  possess.'     She  grew  pale  with  passion  as 


A  MASK  IN  CARNIVAL  TIME.  425 

I  said  this,  but  never  spoke  a  word;  and  there  we  stood, 
staring  haughtily  at  each  other,  till  she  pointed  to  the  door, 
and  so  I  left  her.  And  now,  Ida,  who  is  she  that  treats  me 
thus  disdainfully?  I  ask  you  not  in  anger,  for  I  know  too 
well  how  the  world  regards  such  as  me  to  presume  to  ques- 
tion its  harsh  injustice.  But  tell  me,  I  beseech  you,  that  she 
is  one  to  whose  station  these  prejudices  are  the  fitting  accom- 
paniments, and  let  me  feel  that  it  is  less  myself  as  the  indi- 
vidual that  she  wrongs,  than  the  class  I  belong  to  is  that 
which  she  despises.  I  can  better  bear  this  contumely  when 
I  know  that  it  is  an  instinct." 

*'  If  birth  and  blood  can  justify  a  prejudice,  a  Princess 
of  the  house  of  Delia  Torre  might  claim  the  privilege,"  said 
the  girl,  haughtily.  ''  No  family  of  the  North,  at  least,  will 
dispute  with  our  own  in  lineage ;  but  there  are  other  causes 
which  may  warrant  all  that  she  feels  towards  you  even  more 
strongly,  Sebastian.  This  boast  of  your  English  origin,  this 
it  is  which  has  doubtless  injured  you  in  her  esteem.  Too 
much  reason  has  she  had  to  cherish  the  antipathy  !  Betrayed 
into  a  secret  marriage  by  an  Englishman  who  represented 
himself  as  of  a  race  noble  as  her  own,  she  was  deserted  and 
abandoned  by  him  afterwards.  This  is  the  terrible  mystery 
which  I  never  dared  to  tell  you,  and  which  led  us  to  a  life  of 
seclusion  at  Massa.  This  is  the  source  of  that  hatred 
towards  all  of  a  nation  which  she  must  ever  associate  with 
the  greatest  misfortunes  of  her  life  !  And  from  this  unhappy 
event  was  she  led  to  make  me  take  that  solemn  oath  that  I 
spoke  of,  never  to  link  my  fortunes  with  one  of  that  hated 
land." 

' '  But  you  told  me  that  you  had  not  made  the  pledge," 
said  he,  wildly. 

"Nor  had  I  then,  Sebastian;  but  since  we  last  met, 
worked  on  by  solicitation,  I  could  not  resist ;  tortured  by  a 
narrative  of  such  sorrows  as  I  never  listened  to  before,  I 
yielded,  and  gave  my  promise." 

*'It  matters  little  to  me!"  said  he,  gloomily;  ''a  barrier 
the  more  or  the  less  can  be  of  slight  moment  when  there  rolls 
a  wide  sea  between  us !  Had  you  ever  loved  me,  such  a 
pledge  had  been  impossible." 

"  It  was  you  yourself,  Sebastian,  told  me  we  were  never  to 
meet  again,"  rejoined  she. 


426        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"  Better  that  we  had  never  done  so ! "  muttered  he. 
''Nay,  perhaps  I  am  wrong,"  added  he,  fiercely;  "this 
meeting  may  serve  to  mark  how  little  there  ever  was  between 
us ! " 

" Is  this  cruelty  affected,  Sebastian,  or  is  it  real?" 

"  It  cannot  be  cruel  to  echo  your  own  words.  Besides," 
said  he,  with  an  air  of  mockery  in  the  words,  "  she  who  lives 
in  this  gorgeous  palace,  surrounded  with  all  the  splendors  of 
life,  can  have  little  complaint  to  make  against  the  cruelty  of 
fortune ! " 

''  How  unlike  yourself  is  all  this  !  "  cried  she.  ''  You  of 
all  I  have  ever  seen  or  known,  understood  how  to  rise  above 
the  accidents  of  fate,  placing  your  happiness  and  your 
ambitions  in  a  sphere  where  mere  questions  of  wealth  never 
entered.     What  can  have  so  changed  you?" 

Before  he  could  reply,  a  sudden  movement  in  the  crowd 
beneath  attracted  the  attention  of  both,  and  a  number  of 
persons  who  had  filled  the  terrace  now  passed  hurriedly 
into  the  salons,  where,  to  judge  from  the  commotion,  an 
event  of  some  importance  had  occurred.  Ida  lost  not  a 
moment  in  entering,  when  she  was  met  by  the  words : 
'  It  is  she,  Nina  herself  is  ill ;  some  mask  —  a  stranger,  it 
would  seem  —  has  said  something  or  threatened  something." 
In  fact,  she  had  been  carried  to  her  room  in  strong  con- 
vulsions ;  and  while  some  were  in  search  of  medical  aid  for 
her,  others,  not  less  eagerly,  were  endeavoring  to  detect 
the  delinquent. 

From  the  gay  and  brilliant  picture  of  festivity  which  was 
presented  but  a  few  minutes  back,  what  a  change  now  came 
over  the  scene !  Many  hurried  away  at  once,  shocked  at 
even  a  momentary  shadow  on  the  sunny  road  of  their  exist- 
ence ;  others  as  anxiously  pressed  on  to  recount  the  incident 
elsewhere ;  some,  again,  moved  by  curiosity  or  some  better 
prompting,  exerted  themselves  to  investigate  what  amounted 
to  a  gross  violation  of  the  etiquette  of  a  carnival ;  and  thus, 
in  the  salons,  on  the  stairs,  and  in  the  court  itself,  the 
greatest  bustle  and  confusion  prevailed.  At  length  some 
suggested  that  the  gate  of  the  palace  should  be  closed,  and 
none  suffered  to  depart  without  unmasking.  The  motion 
was  at  once  adopted,  and  a  small  knot  of  persons,  the 
friends  of  the  Countess,  assumed  the  task  of  the  scrutiny. 


A  MASK  IN  CARNIVAL  TIME.  427 

Despite  complaints  and  remonstrances  as  to  the  incon- 
venience and  delay  thus  occasioned,  they  examined  every 
carriage  as  it  passed  out.  None,  however,  but  faces  famil- 
iar to  the  Florentine  world  were  to  be  met  with ;  the  well- 
known  of  every  ball  and  fete  were  there,  and  if  a  stranger 
presented  himself,  he  was  sure  to  be  one  for  whom  some 
acquaintance  could  bear  testimony. 

At  a  fire  in  one  of  the  smaller  salons  stood  a  small  group, 
of  which  the  Due  de  Brignolles  and  Major  Scaresby  formed 
a  part.  Sentiments  of  a  very  different  order  had  detained 
these  two  individuals,  and  while  the  former  was  deeply 
moved  by  the  insult  offered  to  the  Countess,  the  latter 
felt  an  intense  desire  to  probe  the  circumstance  to  the 
bottom. 

"Devilish  odd  it  is!"  cried  Scaresby;  "here  we  have 
been  this  last  hour  and  a  half  turning  a  whole  house  out  of 
the  windows,  and  yet  there 's  no  one  to  tell  us  what  it 's  all 
for,  what  it 's  all  about !  " 

"Pardon,  monsieur,"  said  the  Duke,  severely.  "We 
know  that  a  lady  whose  hospitality  we  have  been  accepting 
has  retu'ed  from  her  company  insulted.  It  is  very  clearly 
our  duty  that  this  should  not  pass  unpunished." 

"Oughtn't  we  to  have  some  clearer  insight  into  what 
constituted  the  insult?  It  may  have  been  a  practical  joke,  — 
a  mauvaise  plalsaiiterie^  Duke." 

"We  have  no  claim  to  any  confidence  not  extended  to 
us,  sir,"  said  the  Frenchman.  "To  me  it  is  quite  sufficient 
that  the  Countess  feels  aggrieved." 

"  Not  but  we  shall  cut  an  absurd  figure  to-morrow,  when 
we  own  that  we  don't  know  what  we  were  so  indignant 
about.'* 

"  Only  so  many  of  us  as  have  characters  for  the  'latest 
intelligence.'  " 

To  this  s^lly  there  succeeded  a  somewhat  awkward  pause, 
Scaresby  occupying  himself  with  thoughts  of  some  perfectly 
safe  vengeance. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  was  that  Count  Marsano  — 
that  fellow  who  used  to  be  about  the  Nina  long  ago  —  come 
back  again.  He  was  at  Como  this  summer,  and  made  many 
inquiries  after  his  old  love !  " 


428        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

A  most  insulting  stare  of  defiance  was  the  only  reply 
the  old  Duke  could  make  to  what  he  would  have  been 
delighted  to  resent  as  a  personal  affront. 

"  Marsano  is  a  mauvais  drole,"  said  a  Russian;  "  and  if 
a  woman  slighted  him,  or  he  suspected  that  she  did,  he  's 
the  very  man  to  execute  a  vengeance  of  the  kind." 

''I  should  apply  a  harsher  epithet  to  a  man  capable  of 
such  conduct,"  said  the  Duke. 

"  He  'd  not  take  it  patiently,  Duke,"  said  the  other. 

"It  is  precisely  in  that  hope,  sir,  that  I  should  employ 
it,"  said  the  Duke. 

Again  was  the  conversation  assuming  a  critical  turn,  and 
again  an  interval  of  ominous  silence  succeeded. 

"There  is  but  one  carriage  now  in  the  court,  your  Excel- 
lency," said  the  servant,  addressing  the  Duke  in  a  low  voice, 
"  and  the  gentleman  inside  appears  to  be  seriously  ill.  It 
might  be  better,  perhaps,  not  to  detain  him." 

"Of  course  not,"  said  the  Duke;  "but  stay,  I  will  go 
down  myself." 

There  were  still  a  considerable  number  of  persons  on  foot 
in  the  court  when  the  Duke  descended,  but  only  one  equipage 
remained,  —  a  hired  carriage,  —  at  the  open  door  of  which  a 
servant  was  standing,  holding  a  glass  of  water  for  his  master. 

"  Can  I  be  of  any  use  to  your  master?"  said  the  Duke, 
approaching.     "Is  he  ill?  " 

"I  fear  he  has  burst  a  blood-vessel,  sir,"  said  the  man. 
"  He  is  too  weak  to  answer  me." 

"  Who  is  it,  — what 's  his  name?  " 

"I  am  not  able  to  tell  you,  sir;  I  only  accompanied  him 
from  the  hotel." 

"  Let  us  have  a  doctor  at  once  ;  he  appears  to  be  dying," 
said  the  Duke,  as  he  placed  his  fingers  on  the  sick  man's 
wrist.     "  Let  some  one  go  for  a  physician." 

"There  is  one  here,"  cried  a  voice.  "I'm  a  doctor;" 
and  Billy  Traynor  pushed  his  way  to  the  spot.  "  Come, 
Master  Charles,  get  into  the  coach  and  help  me  to  lift  him 
out." 

Young  Massy  obeyed,  and  not  without  difficulty  they 
succeeded  at  last  in  disengaging  the  almost  lifeless  form 
of  a  man  whose  dark  domino  was  perfectly  saturated  with 


A  MASK  IN  CARNIVAL  TIME.  429 

fresh  blood ;  his  half  mask  still  covered  his  face,  and,  to 
screen  his  features  from  the  vulgar  gaze  of  the  crowd,  they 
suffered  it  to  remain  there. 

Up  the  wide  stau's  and  into  a  spacious  salon  they  now 
carried  the  figure,  whose  drooping  head  and  hanging  limbs 
gave  little  signs  of  life.  They  placed  him  on  a  sofa,  and 
Traynor,  with  a  ready  hand,  untied  the  mask  and  removed  it. 
''Merciful  Heavens,"  cried  he,  ''it's  my  Lord  himself!  " 

The  youth  bent  down,  gazed  for  a  few  seconds  at  the 
corpse-like  face,  and  fell  fainting  to  the  floor. 

' '  My  Lord  Glencore  himself !  "  said  the  Duke,  who  was 
himself  an  old  and  attached  friend. 

"  Hush !  not  a  word,"  whispered  Traynor ;  "  he 's  rallyin' 
—  he 's  comin'  to ;  don't  utter  a  syllable." 

Slowly  and  languidly  the  dying  man  raised  his  eyelids, 
and  gazed  at  each  of  those  around  him.  From  their  faces 
he  turned  his  gaze  to  the  chamber,  viewing  the  walls  and 
the  ceiling  all  in  turn;  and  then,  in  an  accent  barely 
audible,  he  said,  "Where  am  I?" 

"Amongst  friends,  who  love  and  will  cherish  you,  dear 
Glencore,"  said  the  Duke,  affectionately. 

"Ah,  Brignolles,  I  remember  you.  And  this, — who  is 
this?" 

"Traynor,  my  Lord, — Billy  Traynor,  that  will  never 
leave  you  while  he  can  serve  you !  " 

"Whose  tears  are  those  upon  my  hand,  —  I  feel  them  hot 
and  burning,"  said  the  sick  man ;  and  Billy  stepped  back, 
that  the  light  should  fall  upon  the  figure  that  knelt  beside 
him. 

"Don't  cry,  poor  fellow,"  said  Glencore;  "it  must  be  a 
hard  world,  or  you  have  many  better  and  dearer  friends 
than  I  could  have  ever  been  to  you.     Who  is  this? " 

Billy  tried,  but  could  not  answer. 

"Tell  him,  if  you  know  who  it  is;  see  how  wild  and 
excited  it  has  made  him,"  cried  the  Duke ;  for,  stretching 
out  both  hands,  Glencore  had  caught  the  boy's  face  on 
either  side,  and  continued  to  gaze  on  it,  in  wild  eagerness. 
"It  is  —  it  is!"  cried  he,  pressing  it  to  his  bosom,  and 
kissing  the  forehead  over  and  over  again. 

"  Whom  does  he  fancy  it?     Whom  does  he  suspect  ?  " 


430        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"This  is  —  look,  BrignoUes,"  cried  the  dying  man,  in  a 
voice  already  thick  with  a  death-rattle,  — "  this  is  the 
seventh  Lord  Viscount  Glencore.     I  declare  it.     And  now 

"     He   fell   back,  and   never   spoke   more.     A   single 

shudder  shook  his  feeble  frame,  and  he  was  dead. 

We  have  had  occasion  once  before  in  this  veracious  his- 
tory to  speak  of  the  polite  oblivion  Florentine  society  so 
well  understands  to  throw  over  the  course  of  events  which 
might  cloud,  even  for  a  moment,  the  sunny  surface  of  its 
enjoyment.  No  people,  so  far  as  we  know,  have  greater 
gifts  in  this  way;  to  shroud  the  disagreeables  of  life  in 
decent  shadow  —  to  ignore  or  forget  them  is  their  grand 
prerogative. 

Scarcely,  therefore,  had  three  weeks  elapsed,  than  the 
terrible  catastrophe  at  the  Palazzo  della  Torre  was  totally 
consigned  to  the  bygones ;  it  ceased  to  be  thought  or  spoken 
of,  and  was  as  much  matter  of  remote  history  as  an  incident 
in  the  times  of  one  of  the  Medici.  Too  much  interested  in 
the  future  to  waste  time  on  the  past,  they  launched  into 
speculations  as  to  whether  the  Countess  would  be  likely  to 
marry  again;  what  change  the  late  event  might  effect  in 
the  amount  of  her  fortune ;  and  how  far  her  position  in  the 
world  might  be  altered  by  the  incident.  He  who,  in  the 
ordinary  esteem  of  society,  would  have  felt  less  acutely 
than  his  neighbors  for  Glencore's  sad  fate,  —  Upton,  —  was 
in  reality  deeply  and  sincerely  affected.  The  traits  which 
make  a  consummate  man  of  the  world  —  one  whose  prero- 
gative it  is  to  appreciate  others,  and  be  able  to  guide  and 
influence  their  actions  —  are,  in  truth,  very  high  and  rare 
gifts,  and  imply  resources  of  fine  sentiment  as  fully  as 
stores  of  intellectual  wealth.'  Upton  sorrowed  over  Glen- 
core as  for  one  whose  noble  nature  had  been  poisoned  by 
an  impetuous  temper,  and  over  whose  best  instincts  an  un- 
governable self-esteem  had  ever  held  the  mastery.  They 
had  been  friends  almost  from  boyhood,  and  the  very  world- 
liest of  men  can  feel  the  bitterness  of  that  isolation  in 
which  the  "turn  of  life"  too  frequently  commences.  Such 
friendships  are  never  made  in  later  life.  We  lend  our  affec- 
tions when  young  on  very  small  security,  and  though  it  is 


A  MASK  IN  CARNIVAL  TIME.  431 

true  we  are  occasionally  unfortunate,  we  do  now  and  then 
make  a  safe  investment.  No  men  are  more  prone  to  attach 
an  exaggerated  value  to  early  friendships  than  those  who, 
stirred  by  strong  ambitions,  and  animated  by  high  resolves, 
have  played  for  the  great  stakes  in  the  world's  lottery.  Too 
much  immersed  in  the  cares  and  contests  of  life  to"  find  time 
to  contract  close  personal  attachments,  they  fall  back  upon 
the  memory  of  school  or  college  days  to  supply  the  want  of 
their  hearts.  There  is  a  sophistry,  too,  that  seduces  them 
to  believe  that  then,  at  least,  they  were  loved  for  what  they 
were,  for  qualities  of  their  nature,  not  for  accidents  of 
station,  or  the  proud  rewards  of  success.  There  is  also 
another  and  a  very  strange  element  in  the  pleasure  such 
memories  afford.  Our  early  attachments  serve  as  points  of 
departure  by  which  we  measure  the  distance  we  have  trav- 
elled in  life.  "Ay,"  say  we,  ''we  were  schoolfellows;  I 
remember  how  he  took  the  lead  of  me  in  this  or  that  science, 
how  far  behind  he  left  me  in  such  a  thing ;  and  yet  look  at 
us  now !  "  Upton  had  very  often  to  fall  back  upon  similar 
recollections ;  neither  his  school  nor  his  college  life  had  been 
remarkable  for  distinction ;  but  it  was  always  perceived  that 
every  attainment  he  achieved  was  such  as  would  be  available 
in  after  life.  Nor  did  he  ever  burden  himself  with  the  toils 
of  scholarship  while  there  lay  within  his  reach  stores  of 
knowledge  that  might  serve  to  contest  the  higher  and  greater 
prizes  that  he  had  already  set  before  his  ambition. 

But  let  us  return  to  himself  as,  alone  and  sorrow-struck, 
he  sat  in  his  room  of  the  Hotel  dTtalie.  Various  cares  and 
duties  consequent  on  Glencore's  death  had  devolved  entirely 
upon  him.  Young  Massy  had  suddenly  disappeared  from 
Florence  on  the  morning  after  the  funeral,  and  was  seen  no 
more,  and  Upton  was  the  only  one  who  could  discharge  any 
of  the  necessary  duties  of  such  a  moment.  The  very  nature 
of  the  task  thus  imposed  upon  him  had  its  own  depressing 
influence  on  his  mind;  the  gloomy  pomp  of  death  —  the 
terrible  companionship  between  affliction  and  worldliness  — 
the  tear  of  the  mourner  —  the  heart-broken  sigh  drowned  in 
the  sharp  knock  of  the  coffin-maker.  He  had  gone  through 
it  all,  and  sat  moodily  pondering  over  the  future,  when 
Madame  de  Sabloukoff  entered. 


432        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

"  She  's  much  better  this  morning,  and  I  think  we  can  go 
over  and  dine  with  her  to-day,"  said  she,  removing  her 
shawl  and  taking  a  seat. 

He  gave  a  little  easy  smile  -that  seemed  assent,  but  did 
not  speak. 

"  I  perceive  you  have  not  opened  your  -letters  this  morn- 
ing," said  she,  turning  towards  the  table,  littered  over  with 
letters  and  despatches  of  every  size  and  shape.  "  This 
seems  to  be  from  the  King,  —  is  that  his  mode  of  writing 
'G.  R.'  in  the  corner?" 

*' So  it  is,"  said  Upton,  faintly.  "Will  you  be  kind 
enough  to  read  it  for  me?" 

"Pavilion,  Brighton. 

"  Dear  Upton,  —  Let  me  be  the  first  to  congratulate  you  on 
an  appointment  which  it  affords  me  the  greatest  pleasure  to 
confirm  — 

"  What  does  he  allude  to  ?"  cried  she,  stopping  sud- 
denly, while  a  slight  tinge  of  color  showed  surprise,  and  a 
little  displeasure,  perhaps,  mingled  in  her  emotions. 

"I  have  not  the  very  remotest  conception,"  said  Upton, 
calmly.  "  Let  us  see  what  that  large  despatch  contains  ;  it 
comes  from  the  Duke  of  Agecombe.  Oh,"  said  he,  with 
a  great  effort  to  appear  as  calm  and  unmoved  as  possible, 
"  I  see  what  it  is,  they  have  given  me  India !  " 

"  India  !  "  exclaimed  she,  in  amazement. 

"  I  mean,  my  dear  Princess,  they  have  given  me  the 
Governor-Generalship . ' ' 

"  Which,  of  course,  you  would  not  accept." 

"Why  not,  pray?" 

"India!  It  is  banishment,  barbarism,  isolation  from 
all  that  really  interests  or  embellishes  existence,  —  a  des- 
potism that  is  wanting  in  the  only  element  which  gives  a 
despot  dignity,  that  he  founds  or  strengthens  a  dynasty." 

"No,  no,  charming  Princess,"  said  he,  smiling;  "it  is 
a  very  glorious  sovereignty,  with  unlimited  resources  and  — 
a  very  handsome  stipend." 

"  Which,  therefore,  you  do  not  decline,"  said  she,  with  a 
very  peculiar  smile. 


A  MASK  IN  CARNIVAL  TIME.  43^ 

"  With  your  companionship,  I  should  call  it  a  paradise," 
said  he. 

"  And  without  such? " 

"  Such  a  sacrifice  as  one  must  never  shrink  from  at  the 
call  of  duty,"  said  he,  bowing  profoundly. 

The  Princess  dined  that  day  with  the  Countess  of  Glencore, 
and  Sir  Horace  Upton  journeyed  towards  England. 


28 


CHAPTER  LIV. 


THE    END. 


Years  have  gone  over,  and  once  more  —  it  is  for  the  last 
time  —  we  come  back  to  the  old  castle  in  the  West,  beside 
the  estuary  of  the  Killeries.  Neglect  and  ruin  have  made 
heavy  inroads  on  it.  The  battlements  of  the  great  tower 
have  fallen.  Of  the  windows,  the  stormy  winds  of  the 
Atlantic  have  left  only  the  stone  mullions.  The  terrace  is 
cumbered  with  loose  stones  and  fallen  masonry.  Not  a 
trace  of  the  garden  remains,  save  in  the  chance  presence 
of  some  flowering  plant  or  shrub,  half-choked  by  weeds, 
and  wearing  out  a  sad  existence  in  uncared-for  solitude. 
The  entrance-gate  is  closely  barred  and  fastened,  but  a  low 
portal,  in  a  side  wing,  lies  open,  entering  by  which  we 
can  view  the  dreary  desolation  within.  The  apartments 
once  inhabited  by  Lord  Glencore  are  all  dismantled  and 
empty.  The  wind  and  the  rain  sweep  at  will  along  the 
vaulted  corridors  and  through  the  deep-arched  chambers. 
Of  the  damp,  discolored  walls  and  ceilings,  large  patches 
litter  the  floors  with  fragments  of  stucco  and  carved 
architraves. 

One  small  chamber,  on  the  ground-floor,  maintains  a 
habitable  aspect.  Here  a  bed  and  a  few  articles  of  furniture, 
some  kitchen  utensils  and  a  little  bookshelf,  all  neatly  and 
orderly  arranged,  show  that  some  one  calls  this  a  home ! 
Sad  and  lonely  enough  is  it!  Not  a  sound  to  break  the 
weary  stillness,  save  the  deep  roar  of  the  heavy  sea ;  not  a 
living  voice,  save  the  wild  shrill  cry  of  the  osprey,  as  he 
soars  above  the  barren  cliffs !  It  is  winter,  and  what  desola- 
tion can  be  deeper  or  gloomier !  The  sea-sent  mists  wrap 
the   mountains   and  even  the  lough  itself   in   their  vapory 


THE  END.  435 

shroud.  The  cold  thin  rain  falls  unceasingly ;  a  cheerless, 
•damp,  and  heavy  atmosphere  dwells  even  within  doors  ;  and 
the  gray  half  light  gives  a  shadowy  indistinctness  even  to 
objects  at  hand,  disposing  the  mind  to  sad  and  dreary 
imaginings. 

In  a  deep  straw  chair,  beside  the  turf  fire,  sits  a  very  old 
man,  with  a  large  square  volume  upon  his  knee.  Dwarfed 
by  nature  and  shrunk  by  years,  there  is  something  of 
almost  goblin  semblance  in  the  bright  lustre  of  his  dark 
eyes,  and  the  rapid  motion  of  his  lips  as  he  reads  to  himself 
half  aloud.  The  almost  wild  energy  of  his  features  has  sur- 
vived the  wear  and  tear  of  time,  and,  old  as  he  is,  there  is 
about  him  a  dash  of  vigor  that  seems  to  defy  age.  Poor 
Billy  Traynor  is  now  upwards  of  eighty ;  but  his  faculties 
are  clear,  his  memory  unclouded,  and,  like  Moses,  his  eye 
not  dimmed.  ''The  Three  Chronicles  of  Loughdooner,"  in 
which  he  is  reading,  is  the  history  of  the  Glencores,  and 
contains,  amongst  its  family  records,  many  curious  pre- 
dictions and  prophecies.  The  heirs  of  that  ancient  house 
were,  from  time  immemorial,  the  sport  of  fortune,  enduring 
vicissitudes  without  end.  No  reverses  seemed  ever  too 
heavy  to  rally  from;  no  depth  of  evil  fate  too  deep  for 
them  to  extricate  themselves.  Involved  in  difficulties  in- 
numerable, engaged  in  plots,  conspiracies,  luckless  under- 
takings, abortive  enterprises,  still  they  contrived  to  survive 
all  around  them,  and  come  out  with,  indeed,  ruined  fortunes 
and  beggared  estate,  but  still  with  life,  and  with  what  is  the 
next  to  life  itself,  an  unconquerable  energy  of  character. 

It  was  in  the  encouragement  of  these  gifts  that  Billy  now 
sought  for  what  cheered  the  last  declining  days  of  his  soli- 
tary life.  His  lord,  as  he  ever  called  him,  had  been  for 
years  and  years  away  in  a  distant  colony,  living  under 
another  name.  Dwelling  amongst  the  rough  settlers  of  a 
wild  remote  tract,  a  few  brief  lines  at  long  intervals  were 
^he  only  tidings  that  assured  Billy  he  was  yet  living ;  yet 
were  they  enough  to  convince  him,  coupled  with  the  hered- 
itary traits  of  his  house,  that  some  one  day  or  other  he 
would  come  back  again  to  resume  his  proud  place  and  the 
noble  name  of  his  ancestors.     More  than  once  had  it  been 


436        THE  FORTUNES  OF  GLENCORE. 

the  fate  of  the  Glencores  to  see  "  the  hearth  cold,  and  the 
Toof-tree  blackened ;  "  and  Billy  now  muttered  the  lines  of 
an  old  chronicle  where  such  a  destiny  was  bewailed :  — 

"  Where  are  the  voices,  whispering  low, 

Of  lovers  side  by  side  1 
And  where  the  haughty  dames  who  swept 

Thy  terraces  in  pride? 
Where  is  the  wild  and  joyous  mirth 

That  drown'd  th'  Atlantic's  roar, 
Making  the  rafters  ring  again 

With  welcome  to  Gleucore  ? 

"  And  where  's  the  step  of  belted  knight. 

That  strode  the  massive  floor  1 
And  where  's  the  laugh  of  lady  bright, 

We  used  to  hear  of  yore  ? 
The  hound  that  bayed,  the  prancing  steed. 

Impatient  at  the  door. 
May  bide  the  time  for  many  a  year  — 

They  '11  never  see  Glencore ! 

"  And  he  came  back,  after  all,  —  Lord  Hugo,  — and  wa8 
taken  prisoner  at  Ormond  by  Cromwell,  and  sentenced  to 
death!"  said  Billy.  "Sentenced  to  death! — but  never 
shot !  Nobody  knew  why,  or  ever  will  know.  After  years 
and  years  of  exile  he  came  back,  and  was  at  the  Court  of 
Charles,  but  never  liked,  —  they  say  dangerous  !  That 's 
exactly  the  word,  —  dangerous  !  " 

He  started  up  from  his  revery,  and,  taking  his  stick, 
issued  from  the  room.  The  mist  was  beginning  to  rise, 
and  he  took  his  way  towards  the  shore  of  the  lough,  through 
the  wet  and  tangled  grass.  It  was  a  long  and  toilsome  walk 
for  one  so  old  as  he  was,  but  he  went  manfully  onward,  and 
at  last  reached  the  little  jetty  where  the  boats  from  the 
mainland  were  wont  to  put  in.  All  was  cheerless  and 
leaden-hued  over  the  wide  waste  of  water ;  a  surging  swell 
swept  heavily  along,  but  not  a  sail  was  to  be  seen.  Far 
across  the  lough  he  could  descry  the  harbor  of  Leenane, 
where  the  boats  were  at  anchor,  and  see  the  lazy  smoke  as 
it  slowly  rose  in  the  thick  atmosphere.     Seated  on  a  stone 


THE  END.  437 

at  the  water's  edge,  Billy  watched  long  and  patiently,  his 
eyes  turning  at  times  towards  the  bleak  mountain-road, 
which  for  miles  was  visible.  At  last,  with  a  weary  sigh, 
he  arose,  and  muttering,  *'  He  won't  come  to-day,"  turned 
back  again  to  his  lonely  home. 

To    this    hour    he    lives,    and    waits   the    "coming    of 
Glencore." 


THE   END. 


A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 


A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD, 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   WHITE    HORSE   AT   COBLENTZ. 

Out  of  a  window  of  the  Weissen  Ross,  at  Coblentz,  looking 
upon  the  rapid  Rhine,  over  whose  circling  eddies  a  rich  sun- 
set shed  a  golden  tint,  two  young  Englishmen  lounged  and 
smoked  their  cigars;  rarely  speaking,  and,  to  all  seeming, 
wearing  that  air  of  boredom  which,  strangely  enough,  would 
appear  peculiar  to  a  very  enjoyable  time  of  life.  They  were 
acquaintances  of  only  a  few  days.  They  had  met  on  an 
Antwerp  steamer  —  rejoined  each  other  in  a  picture-gallery 
—  chanced  to  be  side  by  side  at  a  table  d'hdte  at  Brussels, 
and,  at  last,  drifted  into  one  of  those  intimacies  which,  to 
very  young  men,  represents  friendship.  They  agreed  they 
would  travel  together,  all  the  more  readily  that  neither  cared 
very  much  in  what  direction.  *'  As  for  me,"  said  Calvert, 
''it  doesn't  much  signify  where  I  pass  the  interval;  but 
in  October  I  must  return  to  India  and  join  my  regiment." 

"  And  I,"  said  Loyd,  "  about  the  same  time  must  be  in 
England.     I  have  just  been  called  to  the  Bar." 

''  Slow  work  that  must  be,  I  take  it." 

*'  Do  you  like  soldiering?"  asked  Loyd,  in  a  low,  quiet 
voice. 

''Hate  it!  abhor  it!  It's  all  very  well  when  you  join 
first.  You  are  so  glad  to  be  free  of  Woolwich  or  Sand- 
hurst, or  wherever  it  is.  You  are  eager  to  be  treated  like 
a  man,  and  so  full  of  Cox  and  Greenwood,  and  the  army 
tailor,  and  your  camp  furniture ;  and  then  comes  the  depot 


442  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

and  mess.  One's  first  three  months  at  mess  seemed  to  be 
the  cream  of  existence." 

'*  Is  it  realty  so  jolly?     Are  the  fellows  good  talkers?" 

*'  About  the  worst  in  the  universe ;  but  to  a  young  hand, 
they  are  enchantment.  All  their  discourse  is  of  something 
to  be  enjoyed.  It  is  that  foot-race,  that  game  of  billiards, 
that  match  at  cricket,  that  stunning  fine  girl  to  ride  out  with, 
those  excellent  cigars  Watkins  is  sending  us ;  and  so  on. 
All  is  action,  and  very  pleasant  action  too.  Then  duty,  — 
though  it 's  the  habit  to  revile  and  curse  it,  —  duty  is  asso- 
ciated with  a  sense  of  manhood ;  a  sort  of  goose-step  chiv- 
alry, to  be  sure,  but  still  chivalry.  One  likes  to  see  the 
sergeant  with  his  orderly  book,  and  to  read,  '  Ensign  Cal- 
vert for  the  main  guard.' " 

"And  how  long  does  all  this  last?" 

' '  I  gave  it  three  months  ;  some  have  been  able  to  prolong 
it  to  six.  Much  depends  upon  where  the  depot  is,  and 
what  sort  of  corps  you're  in." 

*' Now  for  the  reaction!     Tell  me  of  that." 

"  I  cannot ;  it 's  too  dreadful.  It 's  a  general  detestation 
of  all  things  military,  from  the  Horse  Guards  to  the  mess 
waiter.  You  hate  drill  —  parade  —  inspection  —  the  adjutant 
—  the  wine  committee  —  the  paymaster  —  the  field-officer 
of  the  day  —  and  the  major's  wife.  You  are  chafed  about 
everything  —  you  want  leave,  you  want  to  exchange,  you 
want  to  be  with  the  depot,  you  want  to  go  to  Corfu,  and 
you  are  sent  to  Canada.  Your  brother  officers  are  the  slow- 
est fellows  in  the  service ;  you  are  quizzed  about  them  at 
the  mess  of  the  Nine  Hundred  and  Ninth,  —  *  Yours '  neither 
give  balls  nor  private  theatricals.  You  wish  you  were  in  the 
Cape  Coast  Fencibles,  —  in  fact,  you  feel  that  destiny  has 
placed  you  in  the  exact  position  you  are  least  fitted  for." 

"  So  far  as  I  can  see,  however,  all  the  faults  are  in 
yourself." 

*'Not  altogether.  If  you  have  plenty  of  money,  your 
soldier  life  is  simply  a  barrier  to  the  enjoyment  of  it.  You 
are  chained  to  one  spot,  to  one  set  of  associates,  and  to 
one  mode  of  existence.  If  you're  poor,  it's  fifty  times 
worse,  and  all  your  time  is  spent  in  making  five-and-six- 
pence  a  day  equal  to  a  guinea." 


THE   WHITE   HORSE  AT  COBLENTZ.  4-13 

Loyd   made  no  answer,  but  smoked  on. 

"I  know,"  resumed  the  other,  "that  this  is  not  what 
many  will  tell  you,  or  wliat,  perhaps,  would  suggest  itself 
to  your  own  mind  from  a  chance  intercourse  with  us.  To 
the  civilian  the  mess  is  not  without  a  certain  attraction,  and 
there  is,  I  own,  something  very  taking  in  the  aspect  of  that 
little  democracy  where  the  fair-cheeked  boy  is  on  an  equal- 
ity with  the  old  bronzed  soldier,  and  the  freshness  of  Rugby 
or  Eton  is  confronted  with  the  stern  experiences  of  the  vet- 
eran campaigner ;  but  this  wears  off  very  soon,  and  it  is  a 
day  to  be  marked  with  white  chalk  when  one  can  escape  his 
mess  dinner,  with  all  its  good  cookery,  good  wine,  and  good 
attendance,  and  eat  a  mutton-chop  at  the  Green  Man  with 
Simpkins,  just  because  Simpkins  wears  a  black  coat,  lives 
down  in  the  country,  and  never  was  in  a  Gazette  in  his 
life.  And  now  for  your  side  of  the  medal,  —  what  is  it 
like?" 

"  Nothing  very  gorgeous  or  brilliant,  I  assure  you,"  said 
Loyd,  gently ;  for  he  spoke  with  a  low,  quiet  tone,  and  had 
a  student-like,  submissive  manner,  in  strong  contrast  to  the 
other's  easy  and  assured  air.  ' '  With  great  abilities,  great 
industry,  and  great  connection,  the  career  is  a  splendid  one, 
and  the  rewards  the  highest.  But  between  such  golden 
fortunes  and  mine  there  is  a  whole  realm  of  space.  How- 
ever, with  time  and  hard  work,  and  ordinary  luck,  I  don't 
despair  of  securing  a  fair  livelihood." 

"  After  —  say  —  thirty  years,  eh?  " 

*'  Perhaps  so." 

*'  By  the  time  that  I  drop  out  of  the  army  a  retired  lieu- 
tenant-colonel, with  three  hundred  a  year,  you  '11  be  in  fair 
practice  at  Westminster,  with,  let  us  take  it,  fifteen  hundred, 
or  two  thousand  —  perhaps  five." 

*'  I  shall  be  quite  satisfied  if  I  confirm  the  prediction  in 
the  middle  of  it." 

"Ah!"  continued  the  soldier.  "There's  only  one  road 
to  success,  —  to  marry  a  charming  girl  with  money.  Ashley 
of  ours,  who  has  done  the  thing  himself,  says  that  you  can 
get  money,  —  any  man  can,  if  he  will ;  that,  in  fact,  if  you 
will  only  take  a  little  trouble,  you  may  have  all  the  attrac- 
tions you  seek  for  in  a  wife,  plus  fortune." 


444  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

''  Pleasant  theory,  but  still  not  unlikely  to  involve  a  self- 
deception,  since,  even  without  knowing  it,  a  man  may  be  far 
more  interested  by  the  pecuniary  circumstance.*' 

"  Don't  begin  with  it  ^  first  fall  in  love,  —  I  mean  to  your- 
self, without  betraying  it,  —  and  then  look  after  the  settle- 
ment. If  it  be  beneath  your  expectation,  trip  your  anchor, 
and  get  out  of  the  reach  of  fire." 

"  And  you  may  pass  your  best  years  in  that  unprofitable 
fashion,  not  to  say  what  you  may  find  yourself  become  in 
the  mean  while." 

The  soldier  looked  at  the  other  askance,  and  there  was 
in  his  sidelong  glance  a  sort  of  irony  that  seemed  to  say, 
''  Oh !  you  're  an  enthusiast,  are  you?  " 

''  There  you  have  me,  Loyd,"  said  he,  hurriedly,  —  "  that 
is  the  weak  point  of  my  whole  system ;  but  remember, 
after  all,  do  what  one  will,  he  can't  be  as  fresh  at  five-and- 
thirty  as  five-and-twenty,  —  he  will  have  added  ten  years 
of  distrusts,  doubts,  and  dodges  to  his  nature,  in  spite  of 
himself." 

"  Jf  they  must  come  in  spite  of  himself,  there  is  no  help 
for  it;  but  let  him  at  least  not  deliberately  lay  a  plan  to 
acquire  them." 

"One» thing  is  quite  clear,"  said  the  other,  boldly,  "  the 
change  will  come,  whether  we  like  it  or  not,  and  the  wisest 
philosophy  is  to  plan  our  lives  so  that  we  may  conform  to 
the  alterations  time  will  make  in  us.  I  don't  want  to  be 
dissatisfied  with  my  condition  at  five-and-forty,  just  for  the 
sake  of  some  caprice  that  I  indulged  in  at  fi-s  e-and-twenty, 
and  if  I  find  a  very  charming  creature  with  an  angelic 
temper,  deep  blue  eyes,  the  prettiest  foot  in  Christendom, 
and  a  neat  sum  in  Consols,  I  '11  promise  you  there  will  soon 
be  a  step  in  the  promotion  of  her  Majesty's  service,  vice 
Lieutenant  Harry  Calvert,  sold  out." 

The  reply  of  the  other  was  lost  in  the  hoarse  noise  of  the 
steam  which  now  rushed  from  the  escape-pipe  of  a  vessel 
that  had  just  arrived  beneath  the  window.  She  was  bound 
for  Mayence,  but  stopped  to  permit  some  few  passengers  to 
land  at  that  place.  The  scene  exhibited  all  that  bustle  and 
confusion  so  perplexing  to  the  actors,  but  so  amusing  to 
those  who  are  mere  spectators ;  for  while  some  were  eagerly 


THE   WHITE   HORSE  AT  COBLENTZ.  445 

pressing  forward  to  gain  the  gangway  with  their  luggage, 
the  massive  machinery  of  the  bridge  of  boats  was  already  in 
motion  to  open  a  space  for  the  vessel  to  move  up  the  stream. 
The  young  Englishmen  were  both  interested  in  watching  a 
very  tall,  thin  old  lady,  whose  efforts  to  gather  together  the 
members  of  her  party,  her  luggage,  and  her  followers,  seemed 
to  have  overcome  all  the  ordinary  canons  of  politeness,  for 
she  pushed  here  and  drove  there,  totally  regardless  of  the 
inconvenience  she  was  occasioning.  She  was  followed  by 
two  young  ladies,  from  whose  courteous  gestures  it  could  be 
inferred  how  deeply  their  companion's  insistence  pained 
them,  and  how  ashamed  they  felt  at  their  position. 

'^  I  am  afraid  she  is  English,"  said  Loyd. 

"  Can  there  be  a  doubt  of  it?  Where  did  you  ever  see 
that  reckless  indifference  to  all  others,  that  selfish  disre- 
gard of  decency,  save  in  a  certain  class  of  our  people? 
Look,  she  nearly  pushed  that  fat  man  down  the  hatch- 
way; and  see,  she  will  not  show  the  steward  her  tickets, 
and  she  will  have  her  change.  Poor  girls !  what  misery  and 
exposure  all  this  is  for  you  !  *' 

"  But  the  steamer  is  beginning  to  move  on.  They  will 
be  carried  off !  See,  they  are  hauling  ^  at  the  gangway 
already." 

"  She 's  on  it;  she  does  n't  care;  she's  ovfer  now.  Well 
done,  old  lady !  That  back-hander  was  neatly  given ;  and 
see,  she  has  marshalled  her  forces  cleverly:  sent  the  light 
division  in  front,  and  brings  up  the  rear  herself  with  the 
luggage  and  the  maids.  Now,  I  call  that  as  clever  a  landing 
on  an  enemy's  shore  as  ever  was  done." 

"  I  must  say  I  pity  the  girls,  and  they  look  as  if  they 
felt  all  the  rtiortification  of  their  position.  And  yet,.they'll 
come  to  the  same  sort  of  thing  themselves  one  of  these  days, 
as  naturally  as  one  of  us  will  to  wearing  very  easy  boots  and 
loose-fitting  waistcoats." 

As  he  said  this,  the  new  arrivals  had  passed  up  from  the 
landing-place,  and  entered  the  hotel. 

"  Let  us  at  least  be  merciful  in  our  criticisms  on  foreigners, 
while  we  exhibit  to  their  eyes  such  national  specimens  as 
these!"  said  Calvert.  ''For  my  own  part,  I  believe  that 
from  no  one  source  have  we  as  a  people  derived  so  much 


446  A  RENT  IN  A   CLOUD. 

of  sneer  and  shame,  as  from  that  which  includes  within  it 
what  is  called  the  unprotected  female." 

"What  if  we  were  to  find  out  that  they  were  Belgians, 
or  Dutch,  or  Americans?  or,  better  still,  what  if  they  should 
chance  to  be  remarkably  good  sort  of  English?  I  conclude 
we  shall  meet  them  at  supper." 

"Yes;  and  there  goes  the  bell  for  that  gathering,  which 
on  the  present  occasion  will  be  a  thin  one.  They're  all 
gone  off  to  that  fair  at  Lahnech."  And,  so  saying,  Calvert 
drew  nigh  a  glass,  and  made  one  of  those  extempore 
toilets  which  j/oung  men  with  smart  moustaches  are  accus- 
tomed to  perform  before  presenting  themselves  to  strangers. 
Loyd  merely  took  his  hat  and  walked  to  the  door. 

"  There !  that  ought  to  be  enough,  surely,  for  all  reason- 
able captivation  !  "  said  he,  laughingly. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right;  besides,  I  suspect  in  the  present 
case  it  is  a  mere  waste  of  ammunition ;  "  and,  with  a  self- 
approving  smile,  he  nodded  to  his  image  in  the  glass,  and 
followed  his  friend. 

One  line  at  this  place  will  serve  to  record  that  Calvert 
was  very  good-looking ;  blue-eyed,  blond-whiskered,  Saxon- 
looking,  withal ;  erect  carriage  and  stately  air,  which  are 
always  taken  as  favorable  types  of  our  English  blood.  Per- 
haps a  certain  over-consciousness  of  these  personal  advan- 
tages, perhaps  a  certain  conviction  of  the  success  that  had 
attended  these  gifts,  gave  him  what,  in  slang  phrase,  is 
called  a  "tigerish"  air;  but  it  was  plain  to  see  that  he  had 
acquired  his  ease  of  manner  in  good  company,  and  that 
his  pretei-sion  was  rather  the  stamp  of  a  class  than  of  an 
individual. 

Loyd  was  a  pale,  delicate-looking  youth,  with  dark  eyes 
set  in  the  deepest  of  orbits,  that  imparted  sadness  to 
features  in  themselves  sufficiently  grave.  He  seemed  what 
he  was,  an  overworked  student,  a  man  who  had  sacrificed 
health  to  toil,  and  was  only  aware  of  the  bad  bargain 
when  he  felt  unequal  to  continue  the  contest.  His  doctors 
had  sent  him  abroad  for  rest,  for  that  "distraction"  which 
as  often  sustains  its  English  as  its  French  acceptance,  and  is 
only  a  source  of  worry  and  anxiety  where  rest  and  peace  are 
required.     His  means  were  of  the  smallest ;  he  was  the  only 


THE   WHITE   HORSE   AT  COBLENTZ.  447 

son  of  a  country  vicar,  who  was  sorely  pinched  to  afford 
him  a  very  narrow  support,  and  who  had  to  raise  by  a  loan 
the  hundred  pounds  that  were  to  give  him  this  last  chance  of 
regaining  strength  and  vigor.  If  travel,  therefore,  had  its 
pleasures,  it  had  also  its  pains  for  him.  He  felt,  and  very 
bitterly,  the  heavy  load  that  his  present  enjoyment  was 
laying  upon  those  he  loved  best  in  the  world,  aud  this  it  was 
that,  at  his  happiest  moments,  threw  a  gloom  over  an  already 
moody  and  depressed  temperament. 

The  sad  thought  of  those  at  home,  whose  privations  were 
the  price  of  his  pleasures,  tracked  him  at  every  stepj  and 
pictures  of  that  humble  fireside  where  sat  his  father  and 
his  mother,  rose  before  him  as  he  gazed  at  the  noble 
cathedral,  or  stood  amazed  before  the  greatest  triumphs  of 
art.  This  sensitive  feeling,  preying  upon  one  naturally 
susceptible,  certainly  tended  little  to  his  recovery,  and  even 
at  times  so  overbore  every  other  sentiment  that  he  regretted 
he  had  ever  come  abroad.  Scarcely  a  day  passed  that  he 
did  not  hesitate  whether  he  should  not  turn  his  steps  home- 
ward to  England. 


V 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   PASSENGERS   ON   THE   STEAMBOAT. 

The  table  d^hote  room  was  empty  as  the  two  Englishmen 
entered  it  at  supper-time,  and  they  took  their  places, 
moodily  enough,  at  one  end  of  a  table  laid  for  nigh  thirty 
guests.  "  All  gone  to  Lahnech,  Franz  ?  "  asked  Calvert  of 
the  waiter. 

"Yes,  sir,  but  they  '11  be  sorry  for  it,  for  there  's  thunder 
in  the  air,  and  we  are  sure  to  have  a  deluge  before  night- 
fall." 

"And  the  new  arrivals,  are  they  gone  too?  ^' 

"  No,  sir.  They  are  upstairs.  The  old  lady  would  seem 
to  have  forgotten  a  box,  or  a  desk,  on  board  the  steamer, 
and  she  has  been  in  such  a  state  about  it  that  she  could  n't 
think  of  supping ;  and  the  young  ones  appear  to  sympathize 
in  her  anxieties;  for  they,  too,  said,  'Oh,  we  can't  think 
of  eating  just  now.'  " 

*'But,  of  course,  she  need  n't  fuss  herself.  It  will  be 
detained  at  Mayence,  and  given  up  to  her  when  she 
demands  it." 

A  very  expressive  shrug  of  the  shoulders  was  the  only 
answer  Franz  made,  and  Calvert  added,  "You  don't  quite 
agree  with  me,   perhaps?" 

*'It  is  an  almost  daily  event,  the  loss  of  luggage  on  those 
Rhine  steamers;  so  much  so  that  one  is  tempted  to  believe 
that  stealing  luggage  is  a  regular  livelihood  here." 

Just  at  this  moment  the  Englishwoman  in  question 
entered  the  room,  and  in  French  of  a  very  home  manu- 
facture asked  the  waiter  how  she  could  manage,  by  means 
of  the  telegraph,  to  reclaim  her  missing  property. 

A  most  involved  and  intricate  game  of  cross  purposes 
ensued;  for  the  waiter's  knowledge  of  French  was  scarcely 
more  extensive,  and  embarrassed,  besides,  by  some  special- 


THE  PASSENGERS  ON  THE   STEAMBOAT.  449 

ties  in  accent,  so  that  though  she  questioned  and  he  replied, 
the  discussion  gave  little  hope  of  an  intelligible  solution. 

*'May  I  venture  to  offer  my  services,  madam?"  said 
Calvert,  rising  and  bowing  politely.  "If  I  can  be  of  the 
least  use  on  this  occasion  —  " 

"None  whatever,  sir.  I  am  perfectly  competent  to 
express  my  own  wishes,  and  have  no  need  of  an  inter- 
preter ; "  and  then,  turning  to  the  waiter,  added :  "  Montres- 
moi  le  telegraphy  gargon.'* 

The  semi-tragic  air  in  which  she  spoke,  not  to  add  the 
strange  accent  of  her  very  peculiar  French,  was  almost  too 
much  for  Calvert's  gravity,  while  Loyd,  half  pained  by  the 
ridicule  thus  attached  to  a  countrywoman,  held  down  his 
head  and  never  uttered  a  word.  Meanwhile,  the  old  lady 
had  retired  with  a  haughty  toss  of  her  towering  bonnet, 
followed  by  Franz. 

"The  old  party  is  fierce,"  said  Calvert,  as  he  began  his 
supper,  "and  would  not  have  me  at  any  price." 

"I  suspect  that  this  mistrust  of  each  other  is  very  com- 
mon with  us  English;  not  so  much  from  any  doubt  of  our 
integrity,  as  from  a  fear  lest  we  should  not  be  equal  in 
social  rank." 

"Well;  but  really,  don't  you  think  that  our  externals 
might  have  satisfied  that  old  lady  she  had  nothing  to 
apprehend  on  that  score  ?  " 

"I  can't  say  how  she  may  have  regarded  that  point,"  was 
the  cautious  answer. 

Calvert  pushed  his  glass  impatiently  from  him,  and  said, 
petulantly,  "The  woman  is  evidently  a  governess,  or  a 
companion,  or  a  housekeeper.  She  writes  her  name  in  the 
book  Miss  Grainger,  and  the  others  are  called  Walter. 
Now,  after  all,  a  Miss  Grainger  might,  without  derogating 
too  far,  condescend  to  know  a  Fusilier,  eh?  Oh,  here  she 
comes  again." 

The  lady  thus  criticised  had  now  re-entered  the  room, 
and  was  busily  engaged  in  studying  the  announcement  of 
steamboat  departures  and  arrivals,  over  the  chimney. 

"It  is  too  absurd,"  said  she,  pettishly,  in  French,  "to 
close  the  telegraph-office  at  eight,  that  the  clerks  may  go  to 
a  ball." 

29 


y 


450  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

"Not  to  a  ball,  madam,  to  the  fair  at  Lahnech,"  inteiv 
posed  Franz. 

"I  don't  care,  sir,  whether  it  be  a  dance  or  a  junketing, 
it  is  the  same  inconvenience  to  the  public;  and  the  land- 
lord, and  the  secretary,  as  you  call  him,  of  this  hotel,  are 
all  gone,   and  nothing  left  here  but  you." 

Whether  it  was  the  shameless  effrontery  of  the  contempt 
she  evinced  in  these  words,  or  the  lamentable  look  of  abase- 
ment of  the  waiter,  that  overcame  Calvert,  certain  is  it  he 
made  no  effort  to  restrain  himself,  but  leaning  back  in  his 
chair,  laughed  heartily  and  openly. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  she,  turning  fiercely  on  him,  "you  force 
me  to  say  that  I  never  witnessed  a  more  gross  display  of 
ill-breeding  and  bad  manners." 

"Had  you  only  added,  madam,  *  after  a  very  long  expe- 
rience of  life,'  the  remark  would  have  been  perfect,"  said 
he,  still  laughing. 

"  Oh,  Calvert !  "  broke  in  Loyd,  in  a  tone  of  depreca- 
tion ;  but  the  old  lady,  white  with  passion,  retired  without 
waiting  for  that  apology  which,  certainly,  there  was  little 
prospect  of  her  receiving. 

"I  am  sorry  you  should  have  said  that,"  said  Loyd, 
"for  though  she  was  scarcely  measured  in  her  remark,  your 
laughter  was  a  gross  provocation." 

"How  the  cant  of  your  profession  sticks  to  you!  "  said 
the  other.  "There  was  the  lawyer  in  every  word  of  that 
speech.     There  was  the  'case  '  and  the  *set  off.'  " 

Loyd  could  not  help  smiling,  though  scarcely  pleased  at 
this  rejoinder. 

"Take  my  word  for  it,"  said  Calvert,  as  he  helped  him- 
self to  the  dish  before  him,  "there  is  nothing  in  life  so 
aggressive  as  one  of  our  elderly  countrywomen  when  travel- 
ling in  an  independent  condition.  The  theory  is  attack,  — 
attack  —  attack !  They  have  a  sort  of  vague  impression 
that  the  passive  are  always  imposed  on,  and  certainly  they 
rarely  place  themselves  in  that  category.  As  I  live,  here 
she  comes  once  more." 

The  old  lady  had  now  entered  the  room  with  a  slip  of 
paper  in  her  hand,  to  which  she  called  the  waiter's  atten- 
tion, saying,  "  You  will  despatch  this  message  to  Mayence, 


THE  PASSENGERS   ON  THE   STEAMBOAT.  451 

when  the  office  opens  in  the  morning.  See  that  there  is  no 
mistake  about  it." 

"It  must  be  in  German,  madam,"  said  Franz.  "They'll 
not  take  it  in  any  foreign  language." 

"Tell  her  you'll  translate  it,  Loyd.  Go  in,  man,  and 
get  your  knock-down  as  I  did,"  whispered  Calvert. 

Loyd  blushed  slightly;  but,  not  heeding  the  sarcasm  of 
his  companion,  he  arose,  and,  approaching  the  stranger, 
said,  "It  will  give  me  much  pleasure  to  put  your  message 
into  German,  madam,  if  it  will  at  all  convenience  you." 

It  was  not  till  after  a  very  searching  look  into  his  face, 
and  an  apparently  satisfactory  examination  of  his  features, 
that  she  replied,  "Well,  sir,  I  make  no  objection;  there  can 
be  no  great  secrecy  in  what  passes  through  a  telegraph- 
office.     You  can  do  it,  if  yc^u  please." 

Now,  though  the  speech  was  not  a  very  gracious  acknowl- 
edgment of  a  proffered  service,  Loyd  took  the  paper  and 
proceeded  to  read  it.  It  was  not  without  an  effort,  how-' 
ever,  that  he  could  constrain  himself  so  far  as  not  to  laugh 
aloud  at  the  contents,  which  began  by  an  explanation  that 
the  present  inconvenience  was  entirely  owing  to  the  very 
shameful  arrangements  made  by  the  steam-packet  company 
for  the  landing  of  passengers  at  intermediate  stations,  and 
through  which  the  complainant,  travelling  with  her  nieces, 
Millicent  and  Florence  Walter,  and  her  maids,  Susannah 
Tucker  and  Mary  Briggs,  and  having  for  luggage  the  fol- 
lowing articles  — 

"May  I  observe,  madam,"  said  Loyd,  in  a  mild  tone  of 
remonstrance,  "that  these  explanations  are  too  lengthy  for 
the  telegraph,  not  to  say  very  costly;  and  as  your  object  is 
simply  to  reclaim  a  missing  article  of  your  baggage  —  " 

"I  trust,  sir,  that  having  fully  satisfied  your  curiosity  as 
to  who  we  are,  and  of  what  grievance  we  complain,  that 
you  will  spare  me  your  comments  as  to  the  mode  in  which 
we  prefer  our  demand  for  redress;  but  I  ought  to  have 
known  better,  and  I  deserve  it!  "  and,  snatching  the  paper 
rudely  from  his  hand,  she  dashed  out  of  the  room  in 
passion. 

"By  Jove!  you  fared  worse  than  myself,"  said  Calvert, 
as  he  laughed  loud  and  long.     "You  got  a  heavier  casti- 


452  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

gation  for  your  polite  interference  than  I  did  for  my 
imjDertinence." 

"It  is  a  lesson,  at  all  events,"  said  Loyd,  still  blushing 
for  his  late  defeat.  "I  wonder  is  she  all  right  up  here," 
and  he  touched  his  forehead  significantly. 

"Of  course  she  is.  Nay,  more,  I  '11  wager  a  Nap  that  in 
her  own  set,  amidst  the  peculiar  horrors  who  form  her  daily 
intimates,  she  is  a  strong-minded,  sensible  woman,  'that 
won't  stand  humbug,'  and  on  on.  These  are  specialities; 
they  wear  thick  shoes,  woollen  petticoats,  and  brown  veils, 
quarrel  with  cabmen,  and  live  at  Clapham."  i 

"  But  why  do  they  come  abroad  ?  "  I 

"Ah!  that  is  the  question  that  would  puzzle  nineteen  (xW; 
of  every  twenty  of  us.  With  a  panorama  in  Leicester- 
square,  and  a  guide-book  in  a  chimney  corner,  we  should 
know  more  of  the  Tyrol  than  we  '11  ever  acquire  junketing 
along  in  a  hired  coach,  and  only  eager  not  to  pay  too  much 
for  one's  Kalbshraten  or  SchweAnJieisch,  and  yet  here  we 
come  in  shoals,  to  grumble  and  complain  of  all  our  self- 
imposed  miseries,  and  incessantly  lament  the  comforts  of 
the  land  that  we  won't  live  in." 

"Some  of  us  come  for  health,"  said  Loyd,  sorrowfully. 

"And  was  there  ever  such  a  blunder?  Why,  the  very 
vicissitudes  of  a  Continental  climate  are  more  trying  than 
any  severity  in  our  own.  Imagine  the  room  we  are  now 
sitting  in,  of  a  winter's  evening,  with  a  stove  heated  to 
ninety-five,  and  the  door  opening  every  five  minutes  to  a 
draught  of  air  eleven  degrees  below  zero !  You  pass  out  of 
this  furnace  to  your  bedroom,  by  a  stair  and  corridor  like 
the  Arctic  regions,  to  gain  an  uncarpeted  room,  with  some- 
thing like  a  knife-tray  for  a  bed,  and  a  poultice  of  feathers 
for  a  coverlet!  " 

"And  for  all  that  we  like  it,  we  long  for  it;  save,  pinch, 
screw,  and  sacrifice  Heaven  knows  what  of  home  enjoyment 
just  for  six  weeks  or  two  months  of  it." 

"Shall  I  tell  you  why?  Just  because  Simkins  has  done 
it.  Simkins  has  been  up  the  Rhine  and  dined  at  the 
Cursaal  ,at  Ems,  and  made  his  little  debut  at  roulette  at 
Wiesbaden,  and  spoken  his  atrocious  French  at  Frankfort, 
and  we  won't  consent  to  be  less  men  of  the  world  than 


•      THE  PASSENGERS  ON  THE  STEAMBOAT.  453 

Simkins;  and  though  Simkins  knows  that  it  does  n't  'pay,* 
and  /know  that  it  does  n't  pay,  we  won't  'peach,'  either  of 
us,  just  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you,  and  a  score  like  you, 
fall  into  the  same  blunder,  experience  the  same  disasters, 
and  incur  the  same  disappointments  as  ourselves." 

''No.  I  don't  agree  with  you;  or,  rather,  I  won't  agree 
with  you.  I  am  determined  to  enjoy  this  holiday  of  mine 
to  the  utmost  my  health  will  let  me,  and  you  shall  not 
poison  the  pleasure  by  that  false  philosophy  which,  affect- 
ing to  be  deep,  is  only  depreciatory." 

"  'And  the  honorable  gentleman  resumed  his  seat,'  as  the 
newspapers  say,  'amidst  loud  and  vociferous  cheers,  which 
lasted  for  several  minutes. ' "  This  Calvert  said,  as  he 
drummed  a  noisy  applause  upon  the  table,  and  made  Loyd's 
face  glow  with  a  blush  of  deep  shame  and  confusion. 

"I  told  you  the  second  day  we  travelled  together,  and  I 
tell  you  again  now,  Calvert,"  said  he,  falteringly,  "that  we 
are  nowise  suited  to  each  other,  and  never  could  make  good 
travelling  companions.  You  know  far  more  of  life  than  I 
either  do  or  wish  to  know.  You  see  things  with  an  acute 
and  piercing  clearness  which  I  cannot  attain  to.  You  have 
no  mind  for  the  sort  of  humble  things  which  give  pleasure 
to  a  man  simple  as  myself;  and,  lastly,  — I  don't  like  to  say 
it,  but  I  must,  —  your  means  are  so  much  more  ample  than 
mine,  that  to  associate  with  you,  I  must  live  in  a  style 
totally  above  my  pretensions.  All  these  are  confessions 
more  or  less  painful  to  make,  but  now  that  I  have  made 
them,  let  me  have  the  result,  and  say  good-bye,  —  good- 
bye." 

There  was  an  emotion  in  the  last  words  that  more  than 
compensated  for  what  preceded  them.  It  was  the  genuine 
sorrow  that  loneliness  ever  impresses  on  certain  natures; 
but  Calvert  read  the  sentiment  as  a  tribute  to  himself,  and 
hastily  said,  "No,  no,  you  are  all  wrong.  The  very  dis- 
parities you  complain  of  are  the  bonds  between  us.  The 
differences  in  our  temperament  are  the  resources  by  which 
the  sphere  of  our  observation  will  be  widened :  my  scepti- 
cism will  be  the  corrector  of  your  hopefulness ;  and,  as  to 
means,  take  my  word  for  it,  nobody  can  be  harder  up  than 
I  am,  and  if  you  '11  only  keep  the  bag,  and  limit  the  out- 


454  A  RENT  IN  A   CLOUD.  • 

goings,  I  '11  submit  to  any  shortcomings  when  you  tell  nfie 
they  are  savings." 

''Are  you  serious, — downright  in  earnest  in  all  this?" 
asked  Loyd. 

''So  serious  that  I  propose  our  bargain  should  begin  from 
this  hour.  We  shall  each  of  us  place  ten  Napoleons  in  that 
bag  of  yours.  You  shall  administer  all  outlay,  and  I  bind 
myself  to  follow  implicitly  all  your  behests,  as  chough  I 
were  a  ward  and  you  my  guardian."  V 

"I  'm  not  very  confident  about  the  success  of  the  scheme. 
I  see  many  difficulties  already,  and  there  may  be  others 
that  I  cannot  foresee;  still,  I  am  willing  to  give  it  a  trial." 

"At  last  I  realize  one  of  my  fondest  anticipations,  which 
was  to  travel  without  the  daily  recurring  miseries  of  money- 
.reckoning." 

"Don't  take  fhose  cigars,  they  are  supplied  by  the  waiter, 
and  cost  two  groschen  each,  and  they  sell  for  three  groschen 
a  dozen  in  the  Platz ; "  and,  so  saying,  Loyd  removed  the 
plate  from  before  him  in  a  quiet,  business-like  way  that 
promised  well  for  the  spirit  in  which  his  trust  would  be 
exercised. 

Calvert  laughed  as  he  laid  down  the  cigar,  but  his 
obedience  ratified  the  pact  between  them. 

"When  do  we  go  from  this?"  asked  he,  in  a  quiet  and 
half-submissive  tone. 

"Oh,  come,  this  is  too  much!"  said  Loyd.  "I  under- 
took to  be  purser,  but  not  pilot." 

"Well,  but  I  insist  upon  your  assuming  all  the  cares  of 
legislation.  It  is  not  alone  that  I  want  not  to  think  of  the 
cash,  but  I  want  to  have  no  anxieties  about  the  road  we 
go,  where  we  halt,  and  when  we  move  on.  I  want,  for  once 
in  my  life,  to  indulge  the  glorious  enjoyment  of  perfect 
indolence,  — such  another  chance  will  scarcely  offer  itself." 

"Be  it  so.  Whenever  you  like  to  rebel,  I  shall  be  just 
as  ready  to  abdicate.  I  '11  go  to  my  room  now  and  study 
the  map,  and  by  the  time  you  have  finished  your  evening's 
stroll  on  the  bridge,  I  shall  have  made  the  plan  of  our 
future  wanderings." 

"Agreed!"  said  Calvert.  "I'm  off  to  search  for  some 
of  those  cheap  cigars  you  spoke  of." 


THE  PASSENGERS  ON  THE   STEAMBOAT.  455 

"Stay;  you  forget  that  you  have  not  got  any  money. 
Here  are  six  silver  groschen ;  take  two  dozen,  and  see  that 
they  don't  give  you  any  of  those  vile  Swiss  ones  in  the 
number." 

He  took  the  coin  with  becoming  gravity,  and  set  out  on 
his  errand. 


CHAPTER  ni. 


FELLOW-TRAVELLERS      LIFE. 


Partly  to  suit  Calvert's  passion  for  fishing,  partly  to  meet 
his  own  love  of  a  quiet,  unbroken,  easy  existence,  Loyd 
decided  for  a  ramble  through  the  lakes  of  Northern  Italy ; 
and,  in  about  ten  days  after  the  compact  had  been  sealed, 
they  found  themselves  at  the  little  inn  of  the  Trota,  on  the 
Lago  d'  Orta.  The  inn,  which  is  little  more  than  a  cot- 
tage, is  beautifully  situated  on  a  slender  promontory  that 
runs  into  the  lake,  and  is  itself  almost  hidden  by  the  foliage 
of  orange  and  oleander  trees  that  cover  it.  It  was  very 
hard  to  believe  it  to  be  an  inn,  with  its  trellised  vinewalk, 
its  little  arched  boat-house,  and  a  small  shrine  beside  the 
lake,  where  on  certain  saints'  days,  a  priest  said  a  Mass, 
and  blessed  the  fish  and  those  that  caught  them.  It  was 
still  harder,  too,  to  credit  the  fact  when  one  discovered  his 
daily  expenses  to  be  all  comprised  within  the  limits  of  a 
few  francs,  and  this  with  the  services  of  the  host,  Signor 
Onofrio,  for  boatman. 

To  Loyd  it  was  a  perfect  paradise.  The  glorious  moun- 
tain range,  all  rugged  and  snow-capped,  the  deep-bosomed 
chestnut-woods,  the  mirror-like  lake,  the  soft  and  balmy 
air,  rich  in  orange  odors,  the  earth  teeming  with  violets, 
—  all  united  to  gratify  the  senses,  and  wrap  the  mind  in  a 
dreamy  ecstasy  and  enjoyment.  It  was  equally  a  spot  to 
relax  in  or  to  work,  and  although  now  more  disposed  for 
the  former,  he  planned  in  himself  to  come  back  here,  at 
some  future  day,  and  labor  with  all  the  zest  that  a  strong 
resolve  to  succeed  inspires. 

What  law  would  he  not  read!  What  mass  of  learned 
lore  would  he  not  store  up!     What  strange   and  curious 


FELLOW-TRAVELLERS'  LIFE.  457 

knowledge  would  he  not  acquire  in  this  calm  seclusion! 
He  parcelled  out  his  day  in  imagination;  and,  by  rising 
early,  and  by  habits  of  uninterrupted  study,  he  contem- 
plated that  in  one  long  vacation  here  he  would  have  amassed 
an  amount  of  information  that  no  discursive  labor  could 
ever  attain.  And  then,  to  distract  him  from  weightier 
cares,  he  would  write  those  light  and  sketchy  things,  some 
of  which  had  already  found  favor  with  editors.  He  had 
already  attained  some  small  literary  successes,  and  was, 
like  a  very  young  man,  delighted  with  the  sort  of  recogni- 
tion they  had  procured  him;  and,  last  of  all,  there  was 
something  of  romance  in  this  life  of  mysterious  seclusion. 
He  was  the  hero  of  a  little  story  to  himself,  and  this 
thought  diffused  itself  over  every  spot  and  every  occupa- 
tion, as  is  only  known  to  those  who  like  to  make  poems  of 
their  lives,  and  be  to  their  own  hearts  their  own  epic. 

Calvert,  too,  liked  the  place;  but  scarcely  with  the  same 
enthusiasm.  The  fishing  was  excellent.  He  had  taken  a 
"four  pounder,"  and  heard  of  some  double  the  size.  The 
cookery  of  the  little  inn  was  astonishingly  good.  Onofrio 
had  once  been  a  courier,  and  picked  up  some  knowledge  of 
the  social  chemistry  on  his  travels.  Beccafichi  abounded, 
and  the  small  wine  of  the  Podere  had  a  false  smack  of 
Rhenish,  and  then  with  cream,  and  fresh  eggs,  and  fresh 
butter,  and  delicious  figs  in  profusion,  there  were,  as  he 
phrased  it,  "  far  worse  places  in  the  hill  country !  " 

Besides  being  the  proprietor  of  the  inn,  Onofrio  owned  a 
little  villa,  a  small  cottage-like  thing  on  the  opposite  shore 
of  the  lake,  to  which  he  made  visits  once  or  twice  a  week, 
with  a  trout,  or  a  capon,  or  a  basket  of  artichokes,  or  some 
fine  peaches,  — luxuries  which  apparently  always  found 
ready  purchasers  amongst  his  tenants.  He  called  them 
English,  but  his  young  guests,  with  true  British  phlegm, 
asked  him  no  questions  about  them,  and  he  rarely,  if  ever, 
alluded  to  them.  Indeed,  his  experience  of  English  people 
had  enabled  him  to  see  that  they  ever  maintained  a  dignified 
reserve  towards  each  other,  even  when  offering  to  foreigners 
all  the  freedom  of  an  old  intimacy;  and  then  he  had  an 
Italian's  tact  not  to  touch  on  a  dangerous  theme,  and  thus 
he  contented  himself   with  the  despatch  of  his  occasional 


458  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

hamper  without  attracting  more  attention  to  the  matter  than 
the  laborious  process  of  inscribing  the  words  '^  Illustrissima 
Sign^  Grangiari,"  on  the  top. 

It  was  about  a  month  after  they  had  taken  up  their  abode 
at  the  Trota  that  Onofrio  was  seized  with  one  of  those 
fevers  of  the  country  which,  though  rarely  dangerous  to  life, 
are  still  so  painful  and  oppressive  as  to  require  some  days 
of  confinement  and  care.  In  this  interval,  Calvert  was 
deprived  of  his  chief  companion,  for  mine  host  was  an 
enthusiastic  fisherman,  and  an  unequalled  guide  to  all  parts 
of  the  lake.  The  young  soldier,  chafed  and  fretted  out  of 
all  measure  at  this  interruption  to  his  sport,  tried  to  read; 
tried  to  employ  himself  in  the  garden ;  endeavored  to  write 
a  long-promised  letter  home ;  and  at  last,  in  utter  failure, 
and  in  complete  discontent  with  himself  and  everything,  he 
walked  moodily  about,  discussing  within  himself  whether 
he  would  not  frankly  declare  to  Loyd  that  the  whole  thing 
bored  him,  and  that  he  wanted  to  be  free. 

"This  sort  of  thing  suits  Loyd  well  enough,"  would  he 
say.  ''It  is  the  life  of  Brazenose  or  Christchurch  in  a  purer 
air  and  finer  scenery.  He  can  read  five  or  six  hours  at  a 
stretch,  and  then  plunge  in  the  lake  for  a  swim,  or  pull  an 
oar  for  half  an  hour,  by  way  of  refreshment.  He  is  as 
much  a  man  of  reflection  and  thought  as  I  am  of  action  and 
energy.  Yet,  it  is  your  slow,  solemn  fellow,"  he  would 
say,  ''who  is  bored  to  death  when  thrown  upon  himself;" 
and  now  he  had,  in  a  measure,  to  recant  this  declaration, 
and  own  that  the  solitude  was  too  much  for  him. 

While  he  was  yet  discussing  with  himself  how  to  approach 
the  subject,  the  hostess  came  to  tell  him  that  Onofrio' s  ill- 
ness would  prevent  him  acting  as  his  boatman,  and  begged 
the  boat  might  be  spared  him  on  that  day,  to  send  over 
some  fruit  and  fresh  flowers  he  had  promised  to  the  family 
at  St.  Rosalia;  "that  is,"  added  she,  "if  I*m  lucky  enough 
to  find  a  boatman  to  take  them,  for  at  this  season  all  are 
in  full  work  in  the  fields." 

"What  would  you  say.  Donna  Marietta,  if  I  were  to  take 
charge  of  the  basket  myself,  and  be  your  messenger  to  the 
villa?" 

The  hostess  was  far  less  astonished  at  his  offer  than  he 


FELLOW-TRAVELLERS'  LIFE.  459 

had  imagined  she  would  be.  With  her  native  ideas  on 
these  subjects,  she  only  accepted  the  proposal  as  an  act  of 
civility,  and  not  as  a  surprising  piece  of  condescension, 
and  simply  said,  ''Onofrio  shall  thank  you  heartily  for  it 
when  he  is  up  and  about  again." 

If  this  was  not  the  exact  sort  of  recognition  he  looked 
for,  Calvert  at  all  events  saw  that  he  was  pledged  to  fulfil 
his  offer ;  and  so  he  stood  by  while  she  measured  out  peas, 
and  counted  over  artichokes,  and  tied  up  bundles  of  mint 
and  thyme,  and  stored  up  a  pannier  full  of  ruddy  apples, 
surmounting  all  with  a  gorgeous  bouquet  of  richly  perfumed 
flowers,  culled  in  all  the  careless  profusion  of  that  land  of 
plenty.  Nor  was  this  all.  She  impressed  upon  him  how 
he  was  to  extol  the  excellence  of  this,  and  the  beauty  of  that, 
to  explain  that  the  violets  were  true  Parmesans,  and  the 
dates  such  as  only  Onofrio  knew  how  to  produce. 

Loyd  laughed  his  own  little  quiet  laugh  when  he  heard  of 
his  friend's  mission,  and  his  amusement  was  not  lessened 
at  seeing  the  half-awkward  and  more  than  half-unwilling 
preparations  Calvert  made  to  fulfil  it. 

''Confound  the  woman!  "  said  he,  losing  all  patience; 
*'she  wanted  to  charge  me  with  all  the  bills  and  reckonings 
for  the  last  three  weeks,  on  the  pretext  that  her  husband  is 
but  ill-skilled  in  figures,  and  that  it  was  a  rare  chance  to 
find  one  like  myself  to  undertake  the  office.  I  have  half  a 
mind  to  throw  the  whole  cargo  overboard  when  I  reach  the 
middle  of  the  lake.  I  suppose  a  Nap  would  clear  all  the 
cost." 

"Oh,  I  '11  not  hear  of  such  extravagance,"  said  Loyd, 
demurely. 

"I  conclude  I  have  a  right  to  an  act  of  personal  folly, 
eh?"  asked  Calvert,  pettishly. 

"Nothing  of  the  kind.  I  drew  up  our  contract  with  great 
care,  and  especially  on  this  very  head,  otherwise  it  would 
have  been  too  offensive  a  bargain  for  him  who  should  have 
observed  all  the  rigid  injunctions  of  its  economy." 

"It  was  a  stupid  arrangement  from  the  first,"  said  Cal- 
vert, warmly.  "Two  men  yet  never  lived,  who  could  say 
that  each  could  bound  his  wants  by  those  of  another.  Not 
to  say  that  an  individual  is  not  himself  the  same  each  day 


460  A  KENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

of  the  week.  I  require  this  on  Tuesday,  which  I  did  n't 
want  on  Monday,  and  so  on." 

*'You  are  talking  of  caprice  as  though  it  were  necessity, 
Calvert." 

"I  don't  want  to  discuss  the  matter  like  a  special  pleader, 
and  outside  the  margin  of  our  conjoint  expenses  I  mean  to 
be  as  wasteful  as  I  please." 

"As  the  contract  is  only  during  pleasure,  it  can  never  be 
diflScult  to  observe  it." 

"Yes,  very  true.  You  have  arrived  at  my  meaning  by 
another  road.     When  was  it  we  last  replenished  the  bag  ?  " 

"A  little  more  than  a  week  ago." 

"80  that  there  is  about  a  fortnight  yet  to  run?  " 

"About  that." 

Calvert  stood  in  thought  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then,  as 
if  having  changed  the  purpose  he  was  meditating,  turned 
suddenly  away  and  hastened  down  to  the  boat  quay. 

Like  many  bashful  and  diflSdent  men,  Loyd  had  a  false 
air  of  coldness  and  resolution,  which  impressed  others 
greatly,  but  reacted  grievously  on  his  own  heart  in  moments 
of  afterthought;  and  now,  no  sooner  had  his  companion 
gone,  than  he  felt  what  a  mockery  it  was  for  him  to  have 
assumed  a  rigid  respect  for  a  mere  boyish  agreement, 
which  lost  all  its  value  the  moment  either  felt  it  burden- 
some, "/was  not  of  an  age  to  play  Mentor  to  him.  It 
could  never  become  me  to  assume  the  part  of  a  guardian. 
I  ought  to  have  said  the  bargain  ceases  the  instant  you 
repudiate  it.  A  forced  companionship  is  mere  slavery. 
Let  us  part  the  good  friends  we  met;  and  so  on."  At  last 
he  determined  to  sit  down  and  write  a  short  note  to  Calvert, 
releasing  him  from  his  thraldom,  and  giving  him  his  full 
and  entire  liberty. 

"As  for  myself,  I  will  remain  here  so  long  as  I  stay 
abroad,  and  if  I  come  to  the  Continent  again,  I  will  make 
for  this  spot  as  for  a  home;  and  now  for  the  letter." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    *'lAGO    d'  ORTA." 

Leaving  Loyd  to  compose  his  letter,  we  will  follow  Calvert, 
as,  with  vigorous  stroke,  he  rushed  his  light  boat  through 
the  calm  water,  leaving  a  long  bright  line  of  bubbles  in  his 
wake.  Dressed  in  his  blue  flannel  shirt  and  white  trousers, 
a  gay  bunch  of  roses  stuck  jauntily  in  the  side  of  his  straw 
hat,  there  was  an  air  of  health,  vigor,  and  dash  about  him, 
to  which  his  full  bright  eye  and  upturned  moustache  well 
contributed.  And,  as  from  time  to  time  he  would  rest  on 
his  oars,  while  his  thin  skiff  cleaved  her  way  alone,  his 
bronzed  and  manly  face  and  carelessly  waving  hair  made 
up  a  picture  of  what  we  are  proud  to  think  is  eminently 
British  in  its  character.  That  is  to  say,  there  was  about 
him  much  of  what  indicated  abundance  of  courage,  no  small 
proportion  of  personal  strength,  and  a  certain  sort  of  reck- 
lessness, which  in  a  variety  of  situations  in  life  is  equivalent 
to  power. 

To  any  eye  that  watched  him,  as  with  scarce  an  effort  he 
sent  his  boat  forward,  while  the  lazy  curl  of  smoke  that 
rose  from  his  short  pipe  indicated  ease,  there  would  have 
seemed  one  who  was  indulging  in  the  very  fullest  enjoy- 
ment of  a  scene  second  to  none  in  Europe.  You  had  but  to 
look  along  the  lake  itself  to  see  the  most  gorgeous  picture 
of  wooded  islands  and  headlands  glowing  in  every  tint  of 
color  from  the  pure  white  of  the  oleander  to  the  deep  scarlet 
of  the  San  Giuseppe,  with,  in  the  distance,  the  snow- 
capped Alps  of  the  St.  Bernard,  while  around  and  close  to 
the  very  water's  edge  peeped  forth  little  villas,  half  smoth- 
ered in  orange-blossoms.  Far  over  the  lake  came  their 
floating  perfumes,  as  though  to  lend  enchantment  to  each 
sense,  and  steep  the  very  soul  in  a  delicious  luxury. 


462  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

Now,  as  Calvert  felt  the  refreshing  breath  of  the  gentle 
air  that  stirred  the  water,  he  was  conscious  of  a  glorious 
morning,  and  of  something  generally  grand  in  the  scene 
about  him;  but  that  was  all.  He  had  little  romance  —  less 
of  the  picturesque  —  in  his  nature.  If  his  eyes  fell  on  the 
lake,  it  was  to  fancy  the  enjoyment  of  cleaving  through  it 
as  a  swimmer;  if  he  turned  towards  the  Alps,  it  was  to 
imagine  how  toilsome  would  prove  the  ascent;  how  deeply 
lay  the  snow  on  the  wheels  of  the  diligence ;  how  many  feet 
below  the  surface  were  buried  the  poles  that  once  marked 
out  the  road.  But  even  these  were  but  fleeting  fancies. 
His  thoughts  were  seriously  turned  upon  his  own  future, 
which  opened  no  bright  or  brilliant  prospect  before  him. 
To  go  back  again  to  India,  to  return  to  the  old  regimental 
drudgery,  or  the  still  more  wearisome  existence  of  life  in  a 
remote  detachment;  to  waste  what  he  felt  the  best  years  of 
life  in  inglorious  indolence,  waiting  for  that  routine  pro- 
motion that  comes  associated  with  the  sense  of  growing  old ; 
and  to  trace  at  last  the  dim  vista  of  a  return  to  England, 
when  of  an  age  that  all  places  and  people  and  things  have 
grown  to  be  matters  of  indifference.  These  were  sad  reflec- 
tions. So  sad,  that  not  even  the  bright  scene  around  him 
could  dispel.  And  then  there  were  others,  which  needed  no 
speculation  to  suggest,  and  which  came  with  the  full  force 
of  documents  to  sustain  them.  He  was  heavily  in  debt. 
He  owed  money  to  the  army  agent,  to  the  paymaster,  to  the 
Agra  Bank,  to  the  regimental  tailor,  to  the  outfitter,  —  to 
every  one,  in  short,  who  would  suffer  him  to  be  a  debtor. 
Bonds,  and  I  O's,  and  promissory  notes,  renewed  till  they 
had  nigh  doubled,  pressed  on  his  memory,  and  confused  his 
powers  of  calculation. 

An  old  uncle,  a  brother  of  his  mother's,  who  was  his 
guardian,  would  once  on  a  time  have  stood  by  him,  but  he 
had  forfeited  his  good  esteem  by  an  act  of  deception  with 
regard  to  money,  which  the  old  man  could  not  forgive. 
*'Be  it  so,"  said  he;  ''I  deemed  my  friendship  for  you 
worth  more  than  three  hundred  pounds.  You,  it  would 
seem,  are  differently  minded;  keep  the  money,  and  let  us 
part."  And  they  did  part,  not  to  meet  again.  Calvert's 
affairs   were   managed   by   the   regimental   agent,    and   he 


THE  "LAGO  D'ORTA."  463 

thought  little  more  of  an  old  relative,  who  ceased  to  hold 
a  place  in  his  memory  when  unassociated  with  crisp  enclos- 
ures ''payable  at  sight." 

"I  wonder  what  would  come  of  it  if  I  were  to  write  to 
him;  if  I  were  to  put  it  to  his  humanity  to  rescue  me  from 
a  climate  where,  after  all,  I  might  die,. —  scores  of  fellows 
die  out  there.  At  all  events,  I  detest  it.  I  could  say,  'My 
leave  expires  in  October;  if  you  would  like  to  see  me  once 
more  before  I  quit  England  forever,  for  I  am  going  to  a 
pestilential  spot,  —  the  home  of  the  ague  and  jungle  fever, 
and  Heaven  knows  what  else;  your  sister's  son, — poor 
Sophy's  child  —  *  That  ought  to  touch  him."  And  then  he 
went  on  to  think  of  all  the  tender  and  moving  things  he 
could  write,  and  to  picture  to  himself  the  agitation  of  him 
who  read  them;  and,  thus  speculating,  and  thus  plotting, 
he  swept  his  light  boat  along  till  she  came  close  in  to  shore, 
and  he  saw  the  little  villa  peeping  through  the  spray-like 
branches  of  a  weeping-ash  that  stood  beside  it.  "Higher 
up,"  cried  a  voice,  directing  him.  "Don't  you  know  the 
landing-place  yet?  "  _  And,  startled  by  a  voice  not  altogether 
strange  to  him,  he  looked  round  and  saw  the  old  lady  of 
the  Rhine  steamer,  the  same  who  had  snubbed  him  at 
Coblentz,  the  terrible  Miss  Grainger  of  the  lost  writing- 
case.  It  was  some  minutes  before  he  remembered  that  he 
was  performing  the  part  of  boatman,  and  not  appearing  in 
his  own  character.  Resolved  to  take  all  the  benefit  of  his 
incognito,  he  lifted  his  hat  in  what  he  fancied  to  be  the 
true  Italian  style,  and,  taking  a  basket  in  each  hand,  fol- 
lowed the  old  lady  to  the  house. 

"It  is  three  days  that  we  have  been  expecting  you,"  said 
she,  tartly,  as  she  walked  briskly  on,  turning  at  times  to 
point  a  sarcasm  with  a  fierce  look.  "You  ,were  punctual 
enough  on  Tuesday  last,  when  you  came  for  your  rent. 
You  were  to  the  very  minute  then,  because  it  suited  your- 
self. But  you  are  like  all  your  countrymen,  —  mean,  sel- 
fish, and  greedy.  As  to  those  pears  you  brought  last,  I 
have  struck  them  off  the  account.  You  may  bring  others 
if  you  please,  but  I  '11  not  pay  for  rotten  fruit  any  more 
than  I  will  for  three  journeys  to  Como  for  nothing,  —  do 
you  hear  me,  sir?  —  three  journeys  to  look  after  my  writing- 
desk,  which  I  lost  on  the  Rhine,  but  which  I  know  was  for- 


464  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

warded  here,  though  I  can't  get  it.  Is  it  worth  your  while 
to  answer  ?  Oh,  of  course,  your  old  excuse,  —  /ou  are 
forgetting  your  English;  it  is  so  long  since  you  were  a 
courier.  You  knew  quite  enough,  .when  I  came  here,  to 
make  me  pay  more  than  double  the  proper  rent  for  this 
miserable  place,  without  a  carpet,  or  — "  Just  as  she 
reached  thus  far,  she  was  joined  by  one  of  the  young  girls, 
whose  looks  had  vastly  changed  for  the  better,  and  was 
now  a  strikingly  fine  and  handsome  girl. 

"Milly,"  said  the  old  lady,  ''take  this  man  round  by  the 
kitchen  garden,  and  get  some  one  to  take  the  fruit  from 
him,  and  be  sure  you  count  the  melons."  -^ 

Not  sorry  for  the  change  of  companionship,  Calvert  fol- 
lowed Milly,  who,  not  condescending  to  bestow  a  look  on 
him,  moved  haughtily  on  in  front. 

"Leave  your  baskets  yonder,  my  good  man,"  said  she, 
pointing  to  a  bench  under  a  spreading  fig-tree ;  and  Calvert, 
depositing  his  burden,  drew  himself  up  and  removed  his  hat. 

"My  aunt  will  pay  you,"  said  she,  turning  to  go  away. 

"I  'd  far  rather  it  had  been  the  niece,"  said  he,  in 
English. 

"What  do  you  mean?     Who  are  you? " 

"A  stranger,  who,  rather  than  suffer  you  to  incur  the 
privation  of  a  breakfast  without  fruit,  rowed  across  the 
lake  this  morning  to  bring  it." 

"Won't  he  go,  Milly,  ?  What  is  he  bargaining  about?  " 
cried  Miss  Grainger,  coming  up. 

But  the  young  girl  ran  hastily  towards  her,  and  for  some 
minutes  they  spoke  in  a  low  tone  together. 

"I  think  it  an  impertinence, — yes,  an  impertinence, 
Milly, — and  I  mean  to  tell  him  so!"  said  the  old  lady, 
fuming  with  passion.  "Such  things  are  not  done  in  the 
world.  They  are  unpardonable  liberties.  What  is  your 
name,   sir?" 

"Calvert,  madam."    . 

"Calvert?  Calvert!  Not  Calvert  of  Rocksley?"  said 
she,  with  a  sneer. 

"No,  ma'am,  only  his  nephew." 

"  Are  you  his  nephew,  really  his  nephew  ? "  said  she, 
with  a  half  incredulity. 


THE  "LAGO  D'ORTA."  465 

"Yes,  madam,  I  have  that  very  unprofitable  honor.  If 
you  are  acquainted  with  the  family,  you  will  recognize  their 
crest;  "  and  he  detached  a  seal  from  his  watch-chain  and 
handed  it  to  her. 

"Quite  true,  the  portcullis  and  the  old  motto, — *Ferme 
en  Tombant.'  I  know,  or  rather  I  knew,  your  relatives 
once,  Mr.  Calvert."  This  was  said  with  a  total  change  of 
manner,  and  a  sort  of  simpering  politeness  that  sat  very  ill 
upon  her. 

Quick  enough  to  mark  this  change  of  manner  and  profit 
by  it,  he  said,  somewhat  coldly,  "  Have  I  heard  your  name, 
madam?     Will  you  permit  me  to  know  it?  " 

"Miss  Grainger,  sir.  Miss  Adelaide  Grainger,"  —  red- 
dening as  she  spoke. 

"  Never  heard  that  name  before.  Will  you  present  me  to 
this  young  lady?"  And  thus,  with  an  air  of  pretension 
whose  impertinence  was  partly  covered  by  an  appearance 
of  complete  unconsciousness,  he  bowed  and  smiled,  and 
chatted  away  till  the  servant  announced  breakfast. 

To  the  invitation  to  join  them,  he  vouchsafed  the  gentlest 
bend  of  the  head,  and  a  half  smile  of  acceptance,  which  the 
young  lady  resented  by  a  stare  that  might  have  made  a  less 
accomplished  master  of  impertinence  blush  to  the  very  fore- 
head.    Calvert  was,  however,  a  proficient  in  his  art. 

As  they  entered  the  breakfast-room.  Miss  Grainger  pre- 
sented him  to  a  young  and  very  delicate-looking  girl  who 
lay  on  a  sofa  propped  up  by  cushions,  and  shrouded  with 
shawls,  though  the  season  was  summer. 

"Florence  —  Mr.  Calvert.  Miss  Florence  Walter.  An 
invalid  come  to  benefit  by  the  mild  air  of  Italy,  sir,  but 
who  feels  even  these  breezes  too  severe  and  too  bracing  for 
her." 

"Egypt  is  your  place,"  said  Calvert;  "one  of  those  nice 
villas  on  the  sea  slope  of  Alexandretta,  with  the  palm-trees 
and  the  cedars  to  keep  off  the  sun ;  "  and,  seating  himself 
by  her  side  in  an  easy  familiar  way,  devoid  of  all  excess 
of  freedom,  talked  to  her  about  health  and  sickness  in  a 
fashion  that  is  very  pleasant  to  the  ears  of  suffering.  And 
he  really  talked  pleasantly  on  the  theme.  It  was  one  of 
which  he  had  already  some  experience.     The  young  wife  of 

30 


466  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

a  brother  officer  of  his  own  had  gained,  in  such  a  sojourn 
as  he  pictured,  health  enough  to  go  on  to  India,  and  was 
then  alive  and  well,  up  in  the  hill  country  above  Simlah. 

"Only  fancy,  aunt,  what  Mr.  Calvert  is  promising  me,  — 
to  be  rosy-cheeked,"  said  the  poor  sick  girl,  whose  pale  face 
caught  a  slight  pinkish  tint  as  she  spoke. 

*'I  am  not  romancing  in  the  least,"  said  Calvert,  taking 
his  place  next  Milly  at  the.  table.  ''The  dryness  of  the 
air,  and  the  equable  temperature,  work,  positively,  mira- 
cles ; "  and  he  went  on  telling  of  cures  and  recoveries. 
When  at  last  he  arose  to  take  leave,  it  was  amidst  a  shower 
of  invitations  to  come  back,  and  pledges  on  his  part  to 
bring  with  him  some  sketches  of  the  scenery  of  Lower 
Egypt,  and  some  notes  he  had  made  of  his  wanderings 
there. 

''By  the  way,"  said  he,  as  he  gained  the  door,  "have  I 
your  permission  to  present  a  friend  who  lives  with  me,  — 
a  strange,  bashful,  shy  creature,  very  good  in  his  way, 
though  that  way  is  n't  exactly  my  way,  but  really  clever 
and  well  read,  I  believe?  May  I  bring  him?  Of  course 
I  hope  to  be  duly  accredited  to  you  myself,  through  my 
uncle." 

"You  need  not,  Mr.  Calvert.  I  recognize  you  for  one 
of  the  family  in  many  ways,"  said  Miss  Grainger;  "and 
when  your  friend  accompanies  you,  he  will  be  most 
Welcome." 

So,  truly  cordially  they  parted. 


CHAPTER  V. 

OLD     MEMORIES. 

"When  Calvert  rejoined  his  friend  he  was  full  of  the  adven- 
ture of  the  morning,  —  such  a  glorious  discovery  as  he  had 
made.  What  a  wonderful  old  woman,  and  what  charming 
girls!  Milly,  however,  he  owned,  rather  inclined  to  the 
contemptuous.  *'She  was  what  you  Cockneys  call  *sarcy,' 
Loyd;  but  the  sick  girl  was  positively  enchanting, — so 
pretty,  so  gentle,  and  so  confiding  withal.  By  the  way, 
you  must  make  me  three  or  four  sketches  of  Nile  scenery, 
—  a  dull  flat,  with  a  palm-tree,  group  of  camels  in  the  fore, 
and  a  pyramid  in  the  background;  and  I'll  get  up  the 
journal  part  while  you  are  doing  the  illustrations.  I  know 
nothing  of  Egypt  beyond  the  overland  route,  though  I  have 
persuaded  them  I  kept  a  house  in  Cairo,  and  advised  them 
by  all  means  to  take  Florence  there  for  the  winter." 

"But  how  could  you  practise  such  a  deception  in  such  a 
case,   Calvert?"  said  Loyd,   reproachfully. 

"Just  as  naturally  as  you  have  *got  up*  that  grand  tone 
of  moral  remonstrance.  What  an  arrant  humbug  you  are, 
Loyd.  Why  not  keep  all  this  fine  indignation  for  West- 
minster, where  it  will  pay  ?  " 

"Quiz  away,  if  you  like;  but  you  will  not  prevent  me 
saying  that  the  case  of  a  poor  sick  girl  is  not  one  for  a 
foolish  jest,  or  a  — " 

He  stopped  and  grew  very  red,  but  the  other  con- 
tinued :  — 

"Out  with  it,  man.  You  were  going  to  say,  a  falsehood. 
I  'm  not  going  to  be  vexed  with  you  because  you  happen  to 
have  a  rather  crape-colored  temperament,  and  like  turning 
things  round  till  you  find  the  dark  side  of  them."     He 


4G8  A  KENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

paused  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  went  on:  "If  you  had 
been  in  my  place  this  morning,  I  know  well  enough  what 
you  'd  have  done.  You  'd  have  rung  the  changes  over  the 
uncertainty  of  life,  and  all  its  miseries  and  disappoint- 
ments. You  'd  have  frightened  that  poor  delicate  creature 
out  of  her  wits,  and  driven  her  sister  half  distracted,  to 
satisfy  what  you  imagine  to  be  your  conscience,  but  which, 
I  know  far  better,  is  nothing  but  a  morbid  love  of  excite- 
ment, —  an  unhealthy  passion  for  witnessing  pain.  Now, 
I  left  her  actually  looking  better  for  my  visit;  she  was 
cheered  and  gay,  and  asked  when  I  'd  come  again,  in  a 
voice  that  betrayed  a  wish  for  my  return." 

Loyd  never  liked  being  drawn  into  a  discussion  with  his 
friend,  seeing  how  profitless  such  encounters  are  in  general, 
and  how  likely  to  embitter  intercourse;  so  he  merely  took 
his  hat  and  moved  towards  the  door. 

"Where  are  you  going?  Not  to  that  odious  task  of 
photography,  I  hope?"  cried  Calvert. 

"Yes,"  said  the  other,  smiling;  "I  am  making  a  com- 
plete series  of  views  of  the  lake,  and  some  fine  day  or  other 
1*11  make  water-color  drawings  from  them." 

"How  I  hate  all  these  fine  intentions  that  only  point  to 
more  work.  Tell  me  of  a  plan  for  a  holiday,  some  grand 
scheme  for  idleness,  and  I  am  with  you;  but  to  sit  quietly 
down  and  say,  'I  '11  roll  that  stone  up  a  hill  next  summer, 
or  next  autumn,'  that  drives  me  mad." 

"Well,  I  '11  not  drive  you  mad.  I  '11  say  nothing  about 
it,"  said  Loyd,  with  a  good-natured  smile. 

"But  won't  you  make  me  these  drawings,  these  jottings 
of  my  tour  amongst  the  Pyramids  ?  " 

''Not  for  such  an  object  as  you  want  them  to  serve." 

"I  suppose,  when  you  come  to  practise  at  the  bar,  you  '11 
only  defend  innocence  and  protect  virtue,  eh?  You'll,  of 
course,  never  take  the  brief  of  a  knave,  or  try  to  get  a 
villain  off.  With  your  principles,  to  do  so  would  be  the 
basest  of  all  crimes."    ' 

"I  hope  I'll  never  do  that  deliberately  which  my  con- 
science tells  me  I  ought  not  to  do." 

"All  right.  Conscience  is  always  in  one's  own  keeping, 
—  a  guest  in  the  house,  who  is  far  too  well  bred  to  be  dis- 


OLD  MEMORIES.  469 

agreeable  to  the  family.  Oh,  you  arch  hypocrite!  how 
much  worse  you  are  than  a  reprobate  like  myself." 

"I'll  not  dispute  that." 

"  More  hypocrisy !  " 

"I  mean  that,  without  conceding  the  point,  it 's  a  thesis 
I'll  not  argue." 

"You  ought  to  have  been  a  Jesuit,  Loyd.  You  'd  have 
been  a  grand  fellow  in  a  long  black  soutane,  with  little 
buttons  down  to  the  feet,  and  a  skull-cap  on  your  head.  I 
think  I  see  some  poor  devil  coming  to  you  about  a  cas  de 
conscience^  and  going  away  sorely  puzzled  with  your  reply 
to  him." 

"Don't  come  to  me  with  one  of  yours,  Calvert,  that's 
all,"  said  Loyd,  laughing,  as  he  hurried  off. 

Like  many  men  who  have  a  strong  spirit  of  banter  in 
them,  Calvert  was  vexed  and  morticed  when  his  sarcasm 
did  not  wound.  "  If  the  stag  will  not  run,  there  can  be  no 
pursuit,"  and  so  was  it  that  he  now  felt  angry  with  Loyd, 
angry  with  himself.  "  I  suppose  these  are  the  sort  of  fel- 
lows who  get  on  in  life.  The  world  likes  their  quiet  sub- 
serviency and  their  sleek  submissiveness.  As  for  me,  and 
the  like  of  me,  we  are  'not  placed.'  Now  for  a  line  to  my 
Cousin  Soph}^,  to  know  who  is  the  'Gratnger '  who  says  she 
is  so  well  acquainted  with  us  all.  Poor  Sophy,  it  was  a 
love  affair  once  between  us,  and  then  it  came  to  a  quarrel, 
and  out  of  that  we  fell  into  the  deeper  bitterness  of  what  is 
called  'a  friendship.'  We  never  really  hated  each  other  till 
we  came  to  that !  " 


"Dearest,  best  of  friends,"  he  began,  "in  my  broken  health, 
fortunes,  and  spirits,  I  came  to  this  place  a  few  weeks  ago,  and 
made,  by  chance,  the  acquaintance  of  an  atrocious  old  woman  called 
Grainger,  —  Miss  or  Mrs.,  I  forget  which.  Who  is  she,  and  why 
does  she  know  us,  and  call  us  the  '  dear  Calverts,'  and  your  house 
*  sweet  old  Rocksley '  ?  I  fancy  she  must  be  a  begging-letter  im- 
poster,  and  has  a  design  —  it  will  be  a  very  abortive  one  —  upon  my 
spare  five-pound  notes.  Tell  me  all  you  know  of  her,  and  if  you 
can  add  a  word  about  her  nieces  twain,  —  one  pretty,  the  other 
prettier,  —  do  so. 

"  Any  use  in  approaching  my  uncle  with  a  statement  of  my 
distresses,  —  mind,  body,  and  estate  ?     I  owe  him  so  much  gratitude 


470  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

that,  if  lie  does  n't  want  me  to  be  insolvent,  he  must  help  me  a  little 
further.  . 

"  Is  it  true  you  are  going  to  be  married  ?  The  thought  of  it 
sends  a  pang  through  me  of  such  anguish  as  I  dare  not  speak  of. 
Oh  dear  I  oh  dear  I  what  a  flood  of  bygones  are  rushing  upon  me, 
after  all  my  pledges,  all  my  promises !  One  of  these  girls  reminded 
me  of  your  smile :  how  like,  but  how  different,  Sophy.  Do  you  say 
there  's  no  truth  in  the  story  of  the  marriage,  and  believe  me  —  what 
your  heart  will  tell  you  I  have  never  ceased  to  be  —  your  devoted 

"  Harry  Calvert." 

"I  think  that  ought  to  do,"  said  he,  as  he  read  over  the 
letter;  "and  there's  no  peril  in  it,  since  her  marriage  is 
fixed  for  the  end  of  the  month.  It  is,  after  all,  a  cheap 
luxury  to  bid  for  the  lot  that  will  certainly  be  knocked 
down  to  another.  She  's  a  nice  girl,  too,  is  Sophy,  but, 
like  all  of  us,  with  a  temper  of  her  own.  I  'd  like  to  see 
her  married  to  Loyd,  —  they  'd  make  each  other  perfectly 
miserable.'* 

With  this  charitable  reflection  to  turn  over  in  various 
ways,  tracing  all  the  consequences  he  could  imagine  might 
spring  from  it,  he  sauntered  out  for  a  walk  beside  the  lake. 

"This  box  has  just  come  by  the  mail  from  Chiasso,"  said 
his  host,  pointing  to  a  small  parcel  corded  and  sealed. 
"It  is  the  box  the  signora  yonder  has  been  searching  for 
these  three  weeks ;  it  was  broken  when  the  diligence  upset, 
and  they  tied  it  together  as  well  as  they  could." 

The  writing-desk  was  indeed  that  which  Miss  Grainger 
had  lost  on  her  Rhine  journey,  and  was  now  about  to  reach 
her  in  a  lamentable  condition,  —  one  hinge  torn  off,  the  lock 
strained,  and  the  bottom  split  from  one  end  to  the  other. 

"I  '11  take  charge  of  it.  I  shall  go  over  to  see  her  in  a 
day  or  two,  perhaps  to-morrow;  "  and  with  this  Calvert 
carried  away  the  box  to  his  own  room. 

As  he  was  laying  the  desk  on  his  table,  the  bottom  gave 
way,  and  the  contents  fell  about  the  room.  They  were  a 
mass  of  papers  and  letters,  and  some  parchments;  and  he 
proceeded  to  gather  them  up  as  best  he  might,  cursing  the 
misadventure,  and  very  angry  with  himself  for  being  in- 
volved in  it.  The  letters  were  in  little  bundles,  neatly  tied, 
and  docketed  with  the  writers'  names.     These  he  replaced 


OLD  MEMORIES.  471 

in  the  box,  having  inverted  it,  and  placing  all,  as  nearly  as 
he  could,  in  due  order,  till  he  came  to  a  thick  papered 
document  tied  with  red  tape  at  the  corner,  and  entitled, 
''Draft  of  Jacob  Walter's  Will,  with  Remarks  of  Counsel." 
"This'  we  must  look  at,"  said  Calvert.  "What  one  can  see 
at  Doctors'  Commons  for  a  shilling  is  no  breach  of  confi- 
dence, even  if  seen  for  nothing ;  "  and  with  this  he  opened 
the  paper. 

It  was  very  brief,  and  set  forth  how  the  testator  had 
never  made,  nor  would  make,  any  other  will ;  that  he  was 
sound  of  mind,  and  hoped  to  die  so.  As  to  his  fortune, 
it  was  something  under  thirty  thousand  pounds  in  Bank 
Stock,  and  he  desired  it  should  be  divided  equally  between 
his  daughters,  the  survivor  of  them  to  have  the  whole,  or, 
in  the  event  of  each  life  lapsing  before  marriage,  that  the 
money  should  be  divided  amongst  a  number  of  charities 
that  he  specified. 

"I  particularly  desire  and  beg,"  wrote  he,  "that  my  girls 
be  brought  up  by  Adelaide  Grainger,  my  late  wife's  half- 
sister,  who  long  has  known  the  hardships  of  poverty,  and 
the  cares  of  a  narrow  subsistence,  that  they  may  learn  in 
early  life  the  necessity  of  thrift,  and  not  habituate  them- 
selves to  luxuries  which  a  reverse  of  fortune  might  take 
away  from  them.  I  wish,  besides,  that  it  should  be  gener- 
ally believed  their  fortune  was  one  thousand  pounds  each, 
so  that  they  should  not  become  a  prey  to  fortune-hunters, 
nor  the  victims  of  adventurers,  insomuch  that  my  last 
request  to  each  of  my  dear  girls  would  be  not  to  marry  the 
man  who  would  make  inquiry  into  the  amount  of  their 
means  till  twelve  calendar  months  after  such  inquiry,  that 
time  being  full  short  enough  to  study  the  character  of  one 
thus  palpably  worldly-minded  and  selfish." 

A  few  cautions  as  to  the  snares  and  pitfalls  of  the  world 
followed,  and  the  document  finished  with  the  testator's 
name,  and  that  of  three  witnesses  in  pencil,  the  words  "if 
they  consent,"  being  added  in  ink,  after  them. 

"Twice  fifteen  make  thirty,  — thirty  thousandvpounds ;  ^ 
very  neat  sum  for  a  great  many  things,  and  yielding,  even 
in  its  dormant  state,  about  fifteen  hundred  a  year.  What 
can  one  do  for  that  ?     Live,  certainly,  —  live  pleasantly. 


472  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

jovially,  if  a  man  were  a  bachelor.  At  Paris,  for  instance, 
with  one's  pleasant  little  entresol  in  the  Rue  Neuve,  or  the 
Rue  Faubourg  St.  Honore,  and  his  club,  and  his  saddle- 
horses,  with  even  ordinary  luck  at  billiards,  he  could  make 
the  two  ends  meet  very  satisfactorily.  Then,  Baden  always 
pays  its  way,  and  the  sea-side  places  also  do,  for  the  world 
is  an  excellent  world  to  the  fellow  who  travels  with  his 
courier,  and  only  begs  to  be  plucked  a  little  by  the  fingers 
that  wear  large  diamonds. 

"But  all  these  enchantments  vanish  when  it  becomes  a 
question  of  a  wife.  A  wife  means  regular  habits  and 
respectability,  —  the  two  most  costly  things  I  know  of. 
Your  scampish  single-handed  valet,  who  is  out  all  day  on 
his  own  affairs,  and  only  turns  up  at  all  at  some  noted  time 
in  your  habits,  is  not  one-tenth  as  dear  as  that  old  creature 
with  the  powdered  head  and  the  poultice  of  cravat  round 
his  neck,  who  only  bows  when  the  dinner  is  served,  and 
grows  apoplectic  if  he  draws  a  cork. 

"It's  the  same  in  everything!  Your  house  must  be 
taken,  not  because  it  is  convenient  or  that  you  like  it,  but 
because  your  wife  can  put  a  pretentious  address  on  her 
card.  It  must  be  something  to  which  you  can  tag  Berkeley 
Square  or  Belgravia.  In  a  word,  a  wife  is  a  mistake,  and, 
what  is  worse,  a  mistake  out  of  which  there  is  no  issue." 

Thus  reasoning  and  reflecting,  —  now  speculating  on 
what  he  should  feel,  now  imagining  what  "the  world" 
would  say,  —  he  again  sat  down,  and  once  more  read  over 
Mr.  Walter's  last  will  and  testament. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Sophy's  letter. 

In  something  over  a  week  the  post  brought  two  letters  for 
the  fellow-travellers.  Loyd's  was  from  his  mother,  —  a 
very  homely  affair,  full  of  affection  and  love,  and  over- 
flowing with  those  little  details  of  domestic  matters  so 
dear  to  those  who  live  in  the  small  world  of  home  and  its 
attachments. 

Calvert's  was  from  his  cousin  Sophy,  much  briefer,  and 
very  different  in  style.     It  ran  thus :  — 

"Dear  Henry  —  " 

"I  used  to  be  Harry,"  muttered  he. 

"Dear  Henry, — It  was  not  without  surprise  I  saw  your 
handwriting  again.  A  letter  from  you  is  indeed  an  event 
at  Rocksley. 

"The  Miss  Grainger,  if  her  name  be  Adelaide  (for  there 
were  two  sisters),  was  our  nursery  governess  long  ago.  Cary 
liked,  I  hated  her.  She  left  us  to  tak*e  charge  of  some 
one's  children,  —  relatives  of  her  own,  I  suspect;  and 
though  she  made  some  move  about  coming  to  see  us,  and 
presenting  'her  charge,'  as  she  called  it,  there  was  no 
response  to  the  suggestion,  and  it  dropped.  I  never  heard 
more  of  her. 

♦'As  to  any  hopes  of  assistance  from  papa,  I  can  scarcely 
speak  encouragingly.  Indeed,  he  made  no  inquiry  as  to 
the  contents  of  your  letter,  and  only  remarked  afterwards 
to  Cary  that  he  trusted  the  correspondence  was  not  to 
continue. 

*'  Lastly,  as  to  myself,  I  really  am  at  a  loss  to  see  how 
my  marriage  can  be  a  subject  of  joy  or  grief,  of  pleasure  or 
pain,  to  you.     We  are  as  much  separated  from  each  other  in 


474  •  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

all  the  relations  of  life  as  we  shall  soon  be  by  long  miles  of 
distance.  Mr.  Wentworth  Graham  is  fully  aware  of  the 
relations  which  once  subsisted  between  us,  —  he  has  even 
read  your  letters,  —  and  it  is  at  his  instance  I  request  that 
the  tone  of  our  former  intimacy  shall  cease  from  this  day, 
and  that  there  may  not  again  be  any  reference  to  the  past 
between  us.  I  am  sure  in  this  I  am  merely  anticipating 
what  your  own  sense  of  honorable  propriety  would  dictate, 
and  that  I  only  express  a  sentiment  your  own  judgment  has 
already  ratified. 

"  Believe  me  to  be,  very  sincerely  yours, 

"  Sophia  Calvert." 

*'  Oh  dear!  When  we  were  Sophy  and  Harry,  the  world 
went  very  differently  from  now,  when  it  has  come  to  Henry 
and  Sophia.  Not  but  she  is  right,  —  right  in  everything  but 
one.  She  ought  not  to  have  shown  the  letters.  There  was 
no  need  of  it,  and  it  was  unfair !  There  is  a  roguery  in  it 
too,  which,  if  I  were  Mr.  Wentworth  Graham,  I  'd  not  like. 
It  is  only  your  most  accomplished  sharper  that  ever  plays 
cartes  sur  table.  I  'd  sorely  suspect  the  woman  who  would 
conciliate  the  new  love  by  a  treachery  to  the  old  one.  How- 
ever, happily,  this  is  his  affair,  not  mine.  Though  I  could 
make  it  mine,  too,  if  I  were  so  disposed,  by  simply  reminding 
her  that  Mr.  W.  G.  has  only  seen  one-half,  and,  by  long 
odds,  the  least  inferesting  half,  of  our  correspondence,  and 
that  for  the  other  he  must  address  himself  to  me.  Husbands 
have  occasionally  to  learn  that  a  small  sealed  packet  of  old 
letters  would  be  a  more  acceptable  present  to  the  bride  on 
her  wedding  morning  than  the  prettiest  trinket  from  the  Rue 
de  la  Paix.  '  Should  like  to  throw  this  shell  into  the  midst  of 
the  orange-flowers  and  the  wedding  favors,  and  I  'd  do  it  too, 
only  that  I  could  never  accurately  hear  of  the  tumult  and 
dismay  it  caused.  I  should  be  left  to  mere  imagination  for 
the  mischief,  and  imagination  no  longer  satisfies  me." 

While  he  thus  mused,  he  saw  Loyd  preparing  for  one  of 
his  daily  excursions  with  the  photographic  apparatus,  and 
could  not  help  a  contemptuous  pity'^r  a  fellow  so  easily 
amused  and  interested,  and  so  easily  diverted  from  the  great 


SOPHY'S  LETTER.  475 

business  of  life, — which  he  deemed  "getting  on," — to  a 
pastime  which  cost  labor  and  returned  no  profit. 

"Come  and  see  'I  Grangeri,'"  the  name  by  which  the 
Italians  designated  the  English  family  at  the  villa,  —  "it's 
far  better  fun  than  hunting  out  rocky  bits,  or  ruined  frag- 
ments of  masonry.  Come,  and  I  '11  promise  you  something 
prettier  to  look  at  than  all  your  feathery  ferns  or  drooping 
foxgloves." 

Loyd  tried  to  excuse  himself.  He  was  always  shy  and 
timid  with  strangers.  His  bashfulness  repelled  intimacy, 
and  so  he  frankly  owned  that  he  would  only  be  a  bar  to  his 
friend's  happiness,  and  throw  a  cloud  over  this  pleasant 
intercourse. 

"How  do  you  know  but  I'd  like  that?"  said  Calvert, 
with  a  mocking  laugh.  "  How  do  you  know  but  I  want  the 
very  force  of  a  contrast  to  bring  my  own  merits  more  con- 
spicuously forward  ?  " 

"  And  make  them  declare  when  we  went  away  that  it  is 
inconceivable  why  Mr.  Calvert  should  have  made  a  com- 
panion of  that  tiresome  Mr.  Loyd,  —  so  low-spirited  and  so 
dreary,  and  so  uninteresting  in  every  way?" 

"  Just  so!  And  that  the  whole  thing  has  but  one  expla- 
nation, —  in  Calvert's  kindness  and  generosity  ;  who,  seeing 
the  helplessness  of  this  poor  depressed  creature,  has  actually 
sacrificed  himself  to  vivify  and  cheer  him,  —  as  we  hear  of 
the  healthy  people  suffering  themselves  to  be  bled  that  they 
might  impart  their  vigorous  heart's  blood  to  a  poor  wretch  in 
the  cholera." 

"But  I'm  not  blue  yet,"  said  Loyd,  laughing.  "I 
almost  think  I  could  get  on  with  my  own  resources." 

"  Of  course  you  might,  in  the  fashion  you  do  at  present; 
but  that  is  not  life,  —  or  at  least  it  is  only  the  life  of  a  vege- 
table. Mere  existence  and  growth  are  not  enough  for  a  man 
who  has  hopes  to  fulfil,  and  passions  to  exercise,  and  desires 
to  expand  into  accomplishments,  not  to  speak  of  the  influence 
that  every  one  likes  to  wield  over  his  fellows.  But,  come 
along,  jump  into  the  boat,  and  see  these  girls  !  I  want  you ; 
for  there  is  one  of  them  I  scarcely  understand  as  yet,  and  as 
I  am  always  taken  up  with  her  sick  sister,  I  've  had  no  time 
to  learn  more  about  her." 


476  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

"  Well,"  said  Loyd,  "  not  to  offer  opposition  to  the  notion 
of  the  tie  that  binds  us,  I  consent."  And,  sending  back  to 
the  cottage  all  the  details  of  his  pursuit,  he  accompanied 
Calvert  to  the  lake. 

"  The  invalid  girl  I  shall  leave  to  your  attention,  Loyd," 
said  the  other,  as  he  pulled  across  the  water.  *'  I  like  her 
the  best ;  but  I  am  in  no  fear  of  rivalry  in  that  quarter,  and 
I  want  to  see  what  sort^  of  stuff  the  other  is  made  of.  So, 
you  understand,  you  are  to  devote  yourself  especially  to 
Florence,  taking  care,  when  opportunity  serves,  to  say  all 
imaginable  fine  things  about  me,  —  my  talents,  my  energy, 
my  good  spirits,  and  so  forth.  I  'm  serious,  old  fellow,  for 
I  will  own  to  you  I  mean  to  marry  one  of  them,  though  which 
I  have  not  yet  decided  on." 

Loyd  laughed  heartily,  —  far  more  heartily  than  in  his 
quiet  habit  was  his  wont,  — and  said,  "  Since  when  has  this 
bright  idea  occurred  to  you  ?  " 

*'I'll  tell  you,"  said  the  other,  gravely.  "I  have  for 
years  had  a  sort  of  hankering  kind  of  half  attachment  to  a 
cousin  of  mine.  We  used  to  quarrel,  and  make  up,  and 
quarrel  again;  but,  somehow,  just  as  careless  spendthrifts 
forget  to  destroy  the  old  bill  when  f they  give  a  renewal,  and 
at  last  find  a  swingeing  sum  hanging  over  them  they  had 
never  dreamed  of,  Sophy  and  I  never  entirely  cancelled  our 
old  scores,  but  kept  them  back  to  be  demanded  at  some 
future  time.  And  the  end  has  been  a  regular  rupture  be- 
tween us,  and  she  is  going  to  be  married  at  the  end  of  this 
month,  and,  not  to  be  outdone  on  the  score  of  indifference, 
I  should  like  to  announce  my  own  happiness,  since  that's 
the  word  for  it,  first." 

**  But  have  you  means  to  marry?" 

"Not  a  shilling." 

"Nor  prospects?" 

"  None." 

"  Then  I  don't  understand  —  " 

"  Of  course  you  don't  understand.  Nor  could  I  make  you 
understand  how  fellows  like  myself  play  the  game  of  life. 
But  let  me  try  by  an  illustration  to  enlighten  you.  When 
there  's  no  wind  on  a  boat,  and  her  sails  flap  lazily  against 
the  mast,  she  can  have  no  guidance,  for  there  is  no  steerage 


SOPHY'S  LETTER.  477 

way  on  her.  She  may  drift  with  a  current,  or  rot  in  a  calm, 
or  wait  to  be  crushed  by  some  heavier  craft  surging  against 
her.  Any  wind  —  a  squall,  a  hurricane  —  would  be  better 
than  that.  Such  is  piy  case.  Marriage  without  means  is  a 
hurricane ;  but  I  'd  rather  face  a  hurricane  than  be  water- 
logged between  two  winds." 

' '  But  the  girl  you  marry  —  " 

'*  The  girl  I  marry  —  or  rather  the  girl  who  marries  me  — 
will  soon  learn  that  she  's  on  board  a  privateer,  and  that  on 
the  wide  ocean  called  life  there 's  plenty  of  booty  to  be  had 
for  a  little  dash  and  a  little  danger  to  grasp  it." 

''  And  is  it  to  a  condition  like  this  you'd  bring  the  girl 
you  love,  Calvert?" 

'^  Not  if  I  had  five  thousand  a  year.  If  I  owned  that,  or 
even  four,  I  'd  be  as  decorous  as  yourself ;  and  I  'd  send  my 
sons  to  Rugby,  and  act  as  poor-law  guardian,  and  give  my 
twenty  pounds  to  the  county  hospital,  and  be  a  model  Eng- 
lishman, to  your  heart's  content.  But  I  have  n*t  five  thou- 
sand a  year,  no,  nor  five  hundred  a  year;  and  as  for  the 
poor-house  and  the  hospital,  I  'm  far  more  likely  to  claim  the 
benefit  than  aid  the  funds.  Don't  you  see,  my  wise-headed 
friend,  that  the  whole  is  a  question  of  money?  Morality  is 
just  now  one  of  the  very  dearest  things  going,  and  even  the 
rich  cannot  always  afford  it.  As  for  me,  a  poor  sub  in  an 
Indian  regiment,  I  no  more  affect  it  than  I  presume  to  keep 
a  yacht,  or  stand  for  a  county."  \ 

''But  what  right  have  you  to  reduce  another  to  such 
straits  as  these?  Why  bring  a  young  girl  into  such  a 
conflict?" 

''If  ever  you  read  Louis  Blanc,  my  good  fellow,  you'd 
have  seen  that  the  right  of  all  rights  is  that  of  '  associated 
labor.'  But  come,  let  us  not  grow  too  deep  in  the  theme,  or 
we  shall  have  very  serious  faces  to  meet  our  friends  with, 
and  yonder,  where  you  see  the  dropping  ash-trees,  is  the 
villa.  Brush  yourself  up,  therefore,  for  the  coming  inter- 
view ;  think  of  your  bits  of  Shelley  and  Tennyson,  and  who 
knows  but  you'll  acquit  yourself  with  honor  to  your 
introducer.'* 

"Let  my  introducer  not  be  too  confident,"  said  Loyd, 
smiling;    "but  here  comes  the  ladies." 


478  A  KENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

As  he  spoke,  two  girls  drew  nigh  the  landing-place,  one 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  other,  and  in  her  attitude  show- 
ing how  dependent  she  was  for  support. 

''My  bashful  friend,  ladies!"  said  Calvert,  presenting 
Loyd.     And  with  this  they  landed. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

DISSENSION. 

The  knowledge  Calvert  now  possessed  of  the  humble  rela- 
tions which  had  subsisted  between  Miss  Grainger  and  his 
uncle's  family,  had  rendered  him  more  confident  in  his  man- 
ner, and  given  him  even  a  sort  of  air  of  protection  towards 
them.  Certain  it  is,  each  day  made  him  less  and  less  a 
favorite  at  the  villa,  while  Loyd,  on  the  other  hand,  grew  in 
esteem  and  liking  with  every  one  of  them,  —  a  preference 
which,  with  whatever  tact  shrouded,  showed  itself  in  various 
shapes. 

*'I  perceive,"  said  Calvert  one  morning,  as  they  sat  at 
breakfast  together,  ''my  application  for  an  extension  of 
leave  is  rejected.  I  am  ordered  to  hold  myself  in  readiness 
to  sail  with  drafts  for  some  regiments  in  Upper  India !  "  He 
paused  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  continued,  "I'd  like 
any  one  to  tell  me  what  great  difference  there  is  in  real 
condition  between  an  Indian  oflScer  and  a  transported  felon. 
In  point  of  daily  drudgery  there  is  little,  and,  as  for  climate, 
the  felon  has  the  best  of  it." 

"I  think  you  take  too  dreary  a  view  of  your  fortune. 
It  is  not  the  sort  of  career  I  would  choose,  nor  would  it 
suit  me ;  but  if  my  lot  had  fallen  that  way,  I  suspect  I  'd 
not  have  found  it  so  unendurable." 

"No.  It  would  not  suit  you.  There's  no  scope  in  a 
soldier's  life  for  those  little  sly  practices,  those  small  arti- 
fices of  tact  and  ingenuity,  by  which  subtlety  does  its  work 
in  this  world.  In  such  a  career,  all  this  adroitness  would 
be  clean  thrown  away." 

"  I  hope,"  said  Loyd,  with  a  faint  smile,  "  that  you  do 
not  imagine  that  these  are  the  gifts  to  achieve  success  in 
any  calling." 


480  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 


u 


I  don't  know,  —  I  am  not  sure,  —  but  I  rather  suspect 
they  find  their  place  at  the  Bar." 

"Take  my  word  for  it,  then,  you  are  totally  mistaken. 
It  is  an  error  just  as  unworthy  of  your  good  sense  as  it  is 
of  your  good  feeling ! "  And  he  spoke  with  warmth  and 
energy. 

"Hurrah!  hurrah!"  cried  Calvert.  "  For  three  months 
I  have  been  exploring  to  find  one  spot  in  your  whole  nature 
that  would  respond  fiercely  to  attack,  and  at  last  I  have  it." 

' '  You  put  the  matter  somewhat  offensively  to  me,  or  I  'd 
not  have  replied  in  this  fashion ;  but  let  us  change  the 
topic,  it  is  an  unpleasant  one." 

"  I  don't  think  so.  When  a  man  nurtures  what  his  friend 
believes  to  be  a  delusion,  and  a  dangerous  delusion,  what 
better  theme  can  there  be  than  its  discussion?" 

"  I  '11  not  discuss  it,"  said  Loyd,  with  determination. 

"  You  '11  not  discuss  it?  " 

"No!" 

"What  if  I  force  you?  What  if  I  place  the  question  on 
grounds  so  direct  and  so  personal  that  you  can't  help  it?" 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"You  shall  presently.  For  some  time  back  I  have  beer 
thinking  of  asking  an  explanation  from  you,  —  an  explana- 
tion of  your  conduct  at  the  villa.  Before  you  had  estab- 
lished an  intimacy  there,  I  stood  well  with  every  one.  The 
old  woman,  with  all  her  respect  for  my  family  and  con- 
nections, was  profuse  in  her  attentions.  Of  the  girls,  as 
I  somewhat  rashly  confided  to  you,  I  had  only  to  make  my 
choice.  I  presented  you  to  them,  never  anticipating  that  I 
was  doing  anything  very  dangerous  to  them  or  to  myself, 
but  I  find  I  was  wrong.  I  don't  want  to  descend  to  de- 
tails, nor  inquire  how  and  by  what  arts  you  gained  your 
influence ;  my  case  is  simply  with  the  fact  that,  since  you 
have  been  in  favor,  /  have  been  out  of  it.  My  whole  posi- 
tion with  them  is  changed.  I  can  only  suggest  now  what 
I  used  to  order,  and  I  have  the  pleasure,  besides,  of  seeing 
that  even  my  suggestion  must  be  submitted  to  you  and 
await  your  approval." 

"  Have  you  finished?  "  said  Loyd,  calmly. 

"  No,  far  from  it !     I  could  make  my  charge  extend  over 


DISSENSION.  481 

hours  long.  Iii  fact,  I  have  only  to  review  our  lives  here 
for  the  last  six  or  seven  weeks,  to  establish  all  I  have  been 
saying,  and  show  you  that  you  owe  me  an  explanation,  and 
something  more  than  an  explanation." 

*'  Have  you  done  now?  " 

*'  If  you  mean,  have  I  said  all  that  I  could  say  on  this 
subject,  no  —  far  from  it.  You  have  not  heard  a  fiftieth 
part  of  what  I  might  say  about  it." 

''Well,  I  have  heard  quite  enough.  My  answer  is  this; 
you  are  totally  mistaken ;  I  never,  directly  or  indirectly, 
prejudiced  3^our  position.  I  seldom  spoke  of  you,  never 
slightingly.  I  have  thought,  it  is  true,  that  you  assumed 
towards  these  ladies  a  tone  of  superiority  which  could  not 
fail  to  be  felt  by  them,  and  that  the  habit  grew  on  you  to 
an  extent  you  perhaps  were  not  aware  of;  as,  however, 
they  neither  complained  of,  nor  resented  it,  and  as,  besides, 
you  were  far  more  a  man  of  the  world  than  myself,  and  con- 
sequently knew  better  what  the  usages  of  society  permitted, 
I  refrained  from  any  remark,  nor,  but  for  your  present 
charge,  would  I  say  one  word  now  on  the  subject." 

"  So,  then,  you  have  been  suffering  in  secret  all  this  time 
over  my  domineering  and  insolent  temper,  pitying  the  dam- 
sels in  distress,  but  not  able  to  get  up  enough  of  Quixotism 
to  avenge  them  ?  " 

"Do  you  want  to  quarrel  with  me,  Calvert?"  said  the 
other,  calmly. 

"  If  I  knew  what  issue  it  would  take,  perhaps  I  could 
answer  you." 

"I'll  tell  you,  then,  at  least  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I 
have  never  injured,  never  wronged  you.  I  have  therefore 
nothing  to  recalj,  nothing  to  redress,  upon  any  part  of  my 
conduct.  In  what  you  conceive  you  are  personally  interested, 
I  am  ready  to  give  a  full  explanation ;  and  this  done,  all  is 
done  between  us." 

"  I  thought  so,  I  suspected  as  much,"  said  Calvert,  con- 
temptuously. "  I  w^as  a  fool  to  suppose  you'd  have  taken 
the  matter  differently ;  and  now  nothing  remains  for  me  but 
to  treat  my  aunt's  nursery  governess  with  greater  deference, 
and  be  more  respectful  in  the  presence  —  the  august  presence 
—  of  a  lawyer's  clerk." 

31 


482  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

"  Good-bye,  sir,"  said  Loyd,  as  he  left  the  room. 

Calvert  sat  down  and  took  up  a  book;  but  though  he 
read  three  full  pages,  he  knew  nothing  of  what  they  con- 
tained. He  opened  his  desk,  and  began  a  letter  to  Loyd  — 
a  farewell  letter — a  justification  of  himself,  but  done  more 
temperately  than  he  had  spoken ;  but  he  tore  it  up,  and  so 
with  a  second  and  a  third.  As  his  passion  mounted,  he 
bethought  him  of  his  cousin  and  her  approaching  marriage. 
"I  can  spoil  some  fun  there,"  cried  he,  and  wrote  as 
follows :  — 

Lago  d'  Orta,  August  12. 

Dear  Sir, — In  the  prospect  of  the  nearer  relations  which  a 
few  days  more  will  estabUsh  between  us,  I  venture  to  address  you 
thus  familiarly.  My  cousin,  Miss  Sophia  Calvert,  has  informed  me 
by  a  letter  I  have  just  received  that  she  deemed  it  her  duty  to  place 
before  you  a  number  of  letters  written  by  me  to  her  at  a  time  when 
there  subsisted  between  us  a  very  close  attachment.  With  my 
knowledge  of  my  cousin's  frankness,  her  candor,  and  her  courage  — 
for  it  would  also  require  some  courage — I  am  fully  persuaded  that 
she  has  informed  you  thoroughly  on  all  that  has  passed.  We  were 
both  very  young,  very  thoughtless,  and,  worse  than  either,  left 
totally  to  our  own  guidance,  none  to  watch,  none  to  look  after  us. 
There  is  no  indiscretion  in  my  saying  that  we  were  both  very  much 
in  love,  and  with  that  sort  of  confidence  in  each  other  that  renders 
distrust  a  crime  to  one's  own  conscience.  Although,  therefore,  she 
may  have  told  you  much,  hei*  womanly  dignity  would  not  let  her 
dwell  on  these  circumstances,  explanatory  of  much,  and  palliative 
of  all  that  passed  between  us.  To  you,  a  man  of  the  world,  I  owe 
this  part  declaration,  less,  however,  for  your  sake  or  for  mine,  than 
for  her,  for  whom  either  of  us  ought  to  make  any  sacrifice  in  our 
power. 

The  letters  she  wrote  me  are  still  in  my  possession.  I  own  they 
are  very  dear  to  me ;  they  are  all  that  remain  of  a  past  to  which 
nothing  in  ray  future  life  can  recall  the  equal.  I  feel,  however,  that 
your  right  to  them  is  greater  than  my  own,  but  T  do  not  know  how 
to  part  with  them.  I  pray  you  advise  me  in  this.  Say  how  you 
would  act  in  a  like  circumstance,  knowing  all  that  has  occurred,  and 
be  assured  that  your  voice  will  be  a  command  to  your  very  devoted 
servant, 

H.  C. 

p.  S.  —  When  I  began  this  letter,  I  was  minded  to  say  my 
cousin  should  see  it ;  on  second  thoughts,  I  incline  to  say  not  — 
decidedly  not. 


DISSENSION.  483 

When  this  base  writer  had  finished  writing  he  flung  down 
the  pen,  and  said  to  himself,  half  aloud,  "I'd  give  some- 
thing to  see  him  read  this !  " 

With  a  restless  impatience  to  do  something,  anything, 
he  left  the  house,  walking  with  hurried  steps  to  the  little 
jetty  where  the  boats  lay.  '*  Where  's  my  boat,  Onofrio?  " 
said  he,  asking  for  the  skiff  he  generally  selected. 

"  The  other  signor  has  taken  her  across  the  lake." 

''  This  is  too  much,"  muttered  he.  ''The  fellow  fancies 
that  because  he  skulks  a  satisfaction  he  is  free  to  practise 
an  impertinence.  He  knew  I  preferred  this  boat,  and  there- 
fore he  took  her."  y 

"  Jump  in,  and  row  me  across  to  La  Rocca,"  said  he  to 
the  boatman.  As  they  skimmed  across  the  lake,  his  mind 
dwelt  only  on  vengeance,  and  fifty  different  ways  of  exact- 
ing it  passed  and  repassed  before  him,  —  all,  however,  con- 
centrating on  the  one  idea:  that  to  pass  some  insult  upon 
Loyd  in  presence  of  the  ladies  would  be  the  most  fatal  injury 
he  could  inflict ;  but  how  to  do  this  without  a  compromise  of 
himself  was  the  difficulty. 

"  Though  no  woman  will  ever  forgive  a  coward,"  thought 
he,  "I  must  take  care  that  the  provocation  I  offer  be  such  as 
will  not  exclude  myself  from  sympathy."  And,  with  all  his 
craft  and  all  his  cunning,  he  could  not  hit  upon  a  way  to 
this.  He  fancied,  too,  that  Loyd  had  gone  over  to  prejudice 
the  ladies  against  him  by  his  own  version  of  what  had 
occurred  in  the  morning.  He  knew  well  how,  of  late,  he 
himself  had  not  occupied  the  highest  place  in  their  esteem, 

—  it  was  not  alone  the  insolent  and  overbearing  tone  he 
assumed,  but  a  levity  in  talking  of  things  which  others 
treated  with  deference,  alike  offensive  to  morals  and  manners, 

—  these  had  greatly  lowered  him  in  their  esteem,  especially 
of  the  girls;  for  old  Miss  Grainger,  with  a  traditional 
respect  for  his  name  and  family,  held  to  him  far  more  than 
the  others. 

"  What  a  fool  I  was  ever  to  have  brought  the  fellow  here ! 
What  downright  folly  it  was  in  me  to  have  let  them  ever 
know  him  !  Is  it  too  late,  however,  to  remedy  this  ?  Can  I 
not  yet  undo  some  of  this  mischief?"  This  was  a  new 
thought,  and  it  filled  his  mind  till  he  landed.     As  he  drew 


484  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

quite  close  to  the  shore  he  saw  that  the  little  awning-covered 
boat,  in  which  the  ladies  occasionally  made  excursions  on 
the  lake,  was  now  anchored  under  a  large  drooping  ash,  and 
that  Loyd  and  the  girls  were  on  board  of  her.  Loj^d  was 
reading  to  them,  —  at  least  so  the  continuous  and  equable  tone 
of  his  voice  indicated,  as  it  rose  in  the  thin  and  silent  air. 
Miss  Grainger  was  not  there,  —  and  this  was  a  fortunate 
thing ;  for  now  he  should  have  his  opportunity  to  talk  with 
her  alone,  and  probably  ascertain  to  what  extent  Loyd's 
representations  had  damaged  him. 

He  walked  up  to  the  villa,  and  entered  the  drawing-room, 
as  he  was  wont,  by  one  of  the  windows  that  opened  on  the 
greensward  without.  There  was  no  one  in  the  room ;  but  a 
half-written  letter,  on  which  the  ink  was  still  fresh,  showed 
that  the  writer  had  only  left  it  at  the  instant.  His  eye 
caught  the  words,  "  Dear  and  Reverend  Sir,"  and  in  the  line 
beneath  the  name  "  Loyd."  The  temptation  was  too  strong, 
and  he  read  on: —  J 

/  ■ 

"  Dear  and  Reverend  Sir,  —  I  hasten  to  express  my  entire 
satisfaction  with  the  contents  of  your  letter.  Your  son,  Mr.  Loyd, 
has  most  faithfully  represented  his  position  and  his  prospects,  and, 
although  my  niece  might  possibly  have  placed  her  chances  of  hap- 
piness in  the  hands  of  a  wealthier  suitor,  I  am  fully  assured  she 
never  coiitd  have  met  with  one  whose  tastes,  pursuits,  and  general 
disposition  —  " 

A  sound  of  coming  feet  startled  him,  and  he  had  but  time 
to  throw  himself  on  a  sofa,  when  Miss  Grainger  entered. 
Her  manner  was  cordial,  fully  as  cordial  as  usual  —  per- 
haps a  little  more  so,  since,  in  the  absence  of  her  nieces, 
she  was  free  to  express  the  instinctive  regard  she  felt 
towards  all  that  bore  his  name. 

' '  How  was  it  that  you  did  not  come  with  Loyd  ?  "  asked 
she. 

''  I  was  busy,  writing  letters,  I  believe,  —  congratulations 
on  Sophy's  approaching  marriage ;  but  what  did  Loyd  say, 
Was  that  the  reason  he  gave  ?  " 

''  He  gave  none.  He  said  he  took  a  whim  into  his  head 
to  row  himself  across  the  lake ;  and  indeed  I  half  suspect 


DISSENSION.  485 

the  exertion  was  too  much  for  him.  He  has  been  coughing 
again,  and  the  pain  in  his  side  has  returned." 

"  He  's  a  wretched  creature,  —  I  mean  as  regards  health 
and  strength.  Of  course  he  always  must  have  been  so; 
but  the  lives  these  fellows  lead  in  London  would  breach  the 
constitution  of  a  really  strong  man." 

*'  Not  Loyd,  however;  he  never  kept  late  hours,  nor  had 
habits  of  dissipation." 

''  I  don't  suppose  he  ever  told  you  that  he  had,"  said  he, 
laughing.  "I  conclude  that  he  has  never  shown  you  his 
diary  of  town  life." 

"  But  do  you  tell  me,  seriously,  that  he  is  a  man  of 
dissipated  habits  ?  " 

*'  Not  more  so  than  eight  out  of  every  ten,  perhaps,  in 
his  class  of  life.  The  student  is  everywhere  more  given  to 
the  excitements  of  vice  than  the  sportsman.  It  is  the  com- 
pensation for  the  wearisome  monotony  of  brain  labor,  and 
they  give  themselves  up  to  excesses  from  which  the  healthier 
nature  of  a  man  with  country  tastes  would  revolt  at  once. 
But  what  have  I  to  do  with  his  habits?  I  am  not  his 
guardian  nor  his  confessor." 

*'  But  they  have  a  very  serious  interest  for  me," 

*'  Then  you  must  look  for  another  counsellor.  I  am  not 
so  immaculate  that  I  can  arraign  others ;  and,  if  I  were,  I 
fancy  I  might  find  some  pleasanter  occupation." 

''  But  if  I  tell  you  a  secret,  a  great  secret  —  " 

*'  I  'd  not  listen  to  a  secret.  I  detest  secrets,  just  as  I  'd 
hate  to  have  the  charge  of  another  man's  money.  So,  I 
warn  you,  tell  me  nothing  that  you  don't  want  to  hear  talked 
of  at  dinner,  and  before  the  servants." 

"Yes;  but  this  is  a  case  in  which  I  really  need  your 
advice." 

"  You  can't  have  it  at  the  price  you  propose.  Not  to 
add,  that  I  have  a  stronger  sentiment  to  sway  me  in  this 
case,  which  you  will  understand  at  once,  when  I  tell  you 
that  he  is  a  man  of  whom  I  would  like  to  speak  with  great 
reserve,  for  the  simple  reason  that  I  don't  like  him." 

''  Don't  like  him  !     You  don't  like  him !  " 

'*  It  does  seem  very  incredible  to  you ;  but  I  must  repeat 
it,  I  don't  like  him." 


486  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

''But  will  you  tell  me  why?  What  are  the  grounds  of 
your  dislike?  " 

''Is  it  not  this  very  moment  I  have  explained  to  you  that 
my  personal  feeling  towards  him  inspires  a  degree  of  defer- 
ence which  forbids  me  to  discuss  his  character?  He  may 
be  the  best  fellow  in  Europe,  the  bravest,  the  boldest,  the 
frankest,  the  fairest.  All  I  have  to  say  is,  that  if  I  had 
a  sister,  and  he  proposed  to  marry  her,  I  *d  rather  see  her 
a  corpse  than  his  wife ;  and  now  you  have  led  me  into  a 
confession  that  I  told  you  I'd  not  enter  upon.  Say  another 
word  about  it,  and  I  '11  go  and  ask  Loyd  to  come  up  here 
and  listen  to  the  discussion,  for  I  detest  secrets  and  secrecy, 
and  I  '11  have  nothing  to  say  to  either." 

"  You  'd  not  do  anything  so  rash  and  inconsiderate." 

"Don't  provoke  me,  that 's  all.     Yiou  are  always  telling 
me  you  know  the  Calverts,  their  hoVheadedness,  their  pas- ' 
sionate  warmth,  and  so  on.     I  lea>;^  it  to  yourself,  is  it  wise 
to  push  me  further  ?  " 

"May  I  show  you  a  letter  I  received  yesterday  morning, 
in  reply  to  one  of  mine  ?  " 

"  Not  if  it  refers  to  Loyd." 

"  It  does  refer  to  him." 

"  Then  I  '11  not  read  it.  I  tell  you  for  the  last  time,  I'll 
not  be  cheated  into  this  discussion.  I  don't  desire  to  have 
it  said  of  me  some  fine  morning,  '  You  talked  of  the  man 
that  you  lived  with  on  terms  of  intimacy.  You  chummed 
with  him,  and  yet  you  told  stories  of  him.'  " 

"  If  you  but  knew  the  difficulty  of  the  position  in  which 
you  have  placed  me  —  " 

"I  know  at  least  the  difficulty  in  which  you  have  placed 
me,  and  I  am  resolved  not  to  incur  it.  Have  I  given  to  you 
Sophy's  letter  to  read?  "  said  he,  with  a  changed  voice.  "  I 
must  fetch  it  out  to  you  and  let  you  see  all  that  she  says  of 
her  future  happiness."  And  thus,  by  a  sudden  turn,  he  art- 
fully engaged  her  in  recollections  of  Rocksley,  and  all  the 
persons  and  incidents  of  a  remote  long  ago! 

When  Loyd  returned  with  the  girls  to  the  house,  Calvert 
soon  saw  that  he  had  not  spoken  to  them  on  the  altercation 
of  the  morning,  —  a  reserve  which  he  ungenerously  attributed 
to  the  part  Loyd  himself  filled  in  the  controversy.     The  two 


DISSENSION.  487 

met  with  a  certain  reserve;  but  which,  however,  felt  and 
understood  by  each,  was  not  easily  marked  by  a  spectator. 
Florence,  however,  saw  it,  with  the  traditional  clearness  of 
an  invalid.  She  read  what  healthier  eyes  never  detect.  She 
saw  that  the  men  had  either  quarrelled,  or  were  on  the  brink 
of  a  quarrel,  and  she  watched  them  closely  and  narrowly. 
This  was  the  easier  for  her,  as  at  meal  times  she  never  came 
to  table,  but  lay  on  the  sofa,  and  joined  in  the  conversation 
at  intervals. 

Oppressed  by  the  consciousness  of  what  had  occurred  in 
the  morning,  and  far  less  able  to  conceal  his  emotions  or 
master  them  than  his  companion,  Loyd  was  disconcerted  and 
ill  at  ease :  now  answering  at  cross  purposes,  now  totally 
absorbed  in  his  own  reflections.  As  Calvert  saw  this,  it 
encouraged  him  to  greater  efforts  to  be  agreeable.  He 
could,  when  he  pleased,  be  a  most  pleasing  guest.  He  had 
that  sort  of  knowledge  of  people  and  life  which  seasons  talk 
so  well,  and  suits  so  many  listeners.  He  was  curious  to  find 
out  to  which  of  the  sisters  Loyd  was  engaged,  but  all  his 
shrewdness  could  not  fix  the  point  decisively.  He  talked  on 
incessantly,  referring,  occasionally,  to  Loyd  to  confirm  what 
he  knew  well  the  other's  experience  could  never  have 
embraced,  and  asking  frankly,  as  it  were,  for  his  opinion  on 
people  he  was  fully  aware  the  other  had  never  met  with. 

Millicent  (or  Milly,  as  she  was  familiarly  called)  Walter 
showed  impatience  more  than  once  at  these  sallies,  which 
always  made  Loyd  confused  and  uncomfortable,  so  that 
Calvert  leaned  to  the  impression  that  it  was  she  herself  was 
the  chosen  one.  As  for  Florence,  she  rather  enjoyed,  he 
thought,  the  awkward  figure  Loyd  presented,  and  she  even 
laughed  outright  at  his  bashful  embarrassment. 

"Yes,"  said  Calvert  to  himself,  *' Florence  is  with  me. 
She  is  my  ally.     I  'm  sure  of  her." 

''  What  spirits  he  has,"  said  Miss  Grainger,  as  she 
brought  the  sick  girl  her  coffee.  "  I  never  saw  him  in  a 
gayer  mood.  He's  bent  on  tormenting  Loyd,  though,  for 
he  has  just  proposed  a  row  on  the  lake,  and  that  he  should 
take  one  boat  and  Loyd  the  other,  and  have  a  race.  He 
well  knows  who'll  win." 

"  That  would  be  delightful,  aunt.     Let  us  have  it  by  all 


488  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

means.  Mr.  Calvert,  I  engage  you.  You  are  to  take  me, 
Milly  will  go  with  Mr.  Loyd." 

"And  I'll  stand  at  the  point  and  be  the  judge,"  said 
Miss  Grainger. 

Calvert  never  waited  for  more,  but,  springing  up,  hastened 
down  to  the  shore  to  prepare  the  boat.  He  was  soon  fol- 
lowed by  Miss  Grainger,  with  Florence  leaning  on  her  arm, 
and  looking  brighter  and  fairer  than  he  thought  he  had  ever 
seen  her. 

"  Let  us  be  off  at  once,"  whispered  Calvert,  "  for  I  'd  like 
a  few  hundred  yards'  practice  —  a  sort  of  trial  gallop  — 
before  I  begin ;  "  and,  placing  the  sick  girl  tenderly  in  the 
stern,  he  pulled  vigorously  out  into  the  lake.  "What  a 
glorious  evening!"  said  he.  "Is  there  anything  in  the 
world  can  equal  one  of  these  sunsets  on  an  Italian  lake,  with 
all  the  tints  of  the  high  Alps  blenuing  softly  on  the  calm 
water?  " 

She  made  no  answer;  and  he  went  on  enthusiastically 
about  the  scene,  the  hour,  the  stillness,  and  the  noble 
sublimity  of  the  gigantic  mountains  which  arose  around 
them. 

Scarcely,  however,  had  Calvert  placed  her  in  the  boat,  and 
pulled  out  vigorously^rom  the  shore,  than  he  saw  a  marked 
change  some  over  the  giiTs  face.  All  the  laughing  gayety 
of  a  moment  back  was  gone,  and  an  expression  of  anxiety 
had  taken  its  place. 

"You  are  not  ill?"  asked  he,  eagerly. 

"  No.     Why  do  you  ask  me?  " 

"I  was  afraid  —  1  fancied  you  looked  paler.  You  seem 
changed." 

"So  I  am,"  said  she,  seriously.  "Answer  me  what  I 
shall  ask,  but  tell  me  frankly." 

"That  I  will;    what  is  it?" 

"  You  and  Loyd  have  quarrelled,  —  what  was  it  about?  " 

"  What  a  notion  !  Do  you  imagine  that  the  silly  quizzing 
that  passes  between  young  men  implies  a  quarrel  ?  " 

"No  matter  what  I  fancy;  tell  me  as  candidly  as  you 
said  you  would.  What  was  the  subject  of  your  disagree- 
ment?" 

"  How  peremptory  you  are,"  said  he,  laughing.     "  Are  you 


DISSENSION.  489 

aware  that  to  give  your  orders  in  this  fashion  implies  one  of 
two  things,  —  a  strong  interest  in  me,  or  in  my  adversary?  " 

''  Well,  I  accept  the  charge  ;  now  for  the  confession." 

"Am  I  right,  then,  dearest  Florence?"  said  he,  ceasing 
to  row,  and  leaning  down  to  look  the  nearer  at  her.  "  Am 
I  right,  then,  that  your  claim  to  this  knowledge  is  the  best 
and  most  indisputable  ?  " 

''Tell  me  what  it  is!  "  said  she,  and  her  pale  face  sud- 
denly glowed  with  a  deep  flush. 

"  You  guessed  aright,  Florence  ;  we  did  quarrel,  — that  is, 
we  exchanged  very  angry  words,  though  it  is  not  very  easy 
to  say  how  the  difference  began,  or  how  far  it  went.  I  was 
dissatisfied  with  him.  I  attributed  to  his  influence,  in  some 
shape  or  other,  that  I  stood  less  well  here  —  in  your  esteem, 
I  mean  —  than  formerly ;  and  he  somewhat  cavalierly  told 
me  if  there  were  a  change  I  owed  it  to  myself,  that  I  took 
airs  upon  me,  that  I  was  haughty,  presuming,  and  fifty  other 
things  of  the  same  sort ;  and  so,  with  an  interchange  of  such 
courtesies,  we  grew  at  last  to  feel  very  warm,  and  finally 
reached  that  point  where  men  —  of  the  world,  at  least  — 
understand  discussion  ceases,  and  something  else  succeeds." 

"  Well,  go  on,"  cried  she,  eagerly. 

"  All  is  told;  there  is  no  more  to  say.  The  lawyer  did 
not  see  the  thing,  perhaps,  in  the  same  vulgar  light  that  I 
did :  he  took  his  hat,  and  came  over  here.  I  followed  him, 
and  there's  the  whole  of  it." 

"  I  think  he  was  wrong  to  comment  upon  your  manner, 
if  not  done  from  a  sense  of  friendship,  and  led  on  to  it  by 
some  admission  on  your  part." 

"Of  course  he  was;  and  I  am  charmed  to  hear  you  say 
so." 

She  was  silent  for  some  time,  leaning  her  head  on  her 
hand,  and  appearing  deep  in  thought. 

"  Now  that  I  have  made  my  confession,  will  you  let  me 
have  one  of  yours?"   said  he,  in  a  low,  soft  voice. 

"I'm  not  sure;    what's  it  to  be  about?" 

"It's  about  myself  I  want  to  question  you." 

"  Abjut  yourself!  Surely  you  could  not  have  hit  upon  a 
sorrier  adviser  or  a  less  experienced  counsellor  than  I  am." 

"I  don't  want  advice,  Florence,  I  only  want  a  fact;  and 


490  A  RENT  m  A  CLOUD. 

from  all  I  have  seen  of  you,  I  believe  you  will  deal  fairly 
with  me." 

She  nodded  assent,  and  he  went  on ;  — 

'*  In  a  few  weeks  more  I  shall  be  obliged  to  return  to 
India,  —  to  a  land  I  dislike,  and  a  service  I  detest ;  to  live 
amongst  companions  distasteful  to  me,  and  amidst  habits 
and  associations  that,  however  endurable  when  I  knew  no 
better,  are  now  become  positively  odious  in  my  eyes. 
This  is  my  road  to  rank,  station,  and  honor.  There  is, 
however,  another  path ;  and,  if  I  relinquish  this  career,  and 
give  up  all  thought  of  ambition,  I  might  remain  in  Europe 
—  here,  perhaps,  on  this  very  lake  side  —  and  lead  a  life 
of  humble  but  unbroken  happiness,  —  one  of  those  peaceful 
existences  which  poets  dream  of  but  never  realize,  because 
it  is  no  use  in  disparaging  the  cup  of  life  till  one  has  tasted 
and  known  its  bitterness ;  and  these  men  have  not  reached 
such  experience — /  have." 

He  waited  for  her  to  speak  —  he  looked  eagerly  at  her 
for  a  word  —  but  she  was  silent. 

"The  confession  I  want  from  you,  Florence,  is  this: 
could  you  agree  to  share  this  life  with  me?" 

She  shook  her  head  and  muttered,  but  what  he  could  not 
catch. 

''It  would  be  too  dreary,  too  sad-colored,  you  think?" 

"No,"  said  she,   "not  that." 

"  You  fear,  perhaps,  that  these  schemes  of  isolation  have 
never  succeeded ;  that  weariness  will  come  when  there  are 
no  longer  new  objects  to  suggest  interest  or  employment?" 

"  Not  that,"  said  she,  more  faintly. 

"Then  the  objection  must  be  myself.  Florence,  is  it  that 
you  would  not,  that  you  could  not,  trust  me  with  your 
happiness?" 

"  You  ask  for  frankness,  and  you  shall  have  it.  I 
cannot  accept  your  offer.  My  heart  is  no  longer  mine  to 
give." 

"And  this  —  this  engagement,  has  been  for  some  time 
back?"  asked  he,  almost  sternly. 

"Yes,  for  some  time,"  said  she,  faintly. 

"Am  I  acquainted  with  the  object  of  it?  Perhaps  1 
have  no  right  to  ask  this.     But  there  is  a  question  I  have  a 


DISSENSION.  491 

full  and  perfect  right  to  ask.  How,  consistently  with  such 
an  engagement,  have  you  encouraged  the  attentions  I  have 
paid  you  ?  " 

"  Attentions !  and  to  me !  Why,  your  attentions  have 
been  directed  rather  to  my  sister,  —  at  least,  she  always 
thought  so,  —  and  even  these  we  deemed  the  mere  passing 
flirtations  of  one  who  made  no  secret  of  saying  that  he 
regarded  marriage  as  an  intolerable  slavery,  or  rather  the 
heavy  price  that  one  paid  for  the  pleasure  of  courtship." 

"Are  the  mere  levities  with  which  I  amused  an  hour  to 
be  recorded  against  me  as  principles?" 

"  Only  when  such  levities  fitted  into  each  other  so  accu- 
rately as  to  show  plan  and  contrivance." 

"  It  was  Loyd  said  tnat.  That  speech  was  his.  I  'd  lay 
my  life  on  it." 

"  I  think  not.  At  least,  if  the  thought'  were  his,  he'd 
have  expressed  it  far  better." 

"You  admire  him,  then?"  asked  he,  peering  closely 
at  her. 

"  I  wonder  why  they  are  not  here,"  said  she,  turning 
her  head  away.  "  This  same  race  ought  to  come  off  by 
this  time." 

' '  Why  don't  you  answer  my  question  ?  " 

"There  he  goes!  Rowing  away  all  alone,  too,  and  my 
aunt  is  waving  her  handkerchief  in  farewell.  See  how  fast 
he  sends  the  boat  through  the  water!  I  wonder  why  he 
gave  up  the  race?  " 

"  Shall  I  tell  you?  He  dislikes  whateyer  he  is  challenged 
to  do.  He  is  one  of  those  fellows  who  will  never  dare  to 
measure  himself  against  another." 

"  My  aunt  is  beckoning  to  us  to  come  back,  Mr. 
Calvert." 

"And  my  taste  is  for  going  forward,"  muttered  he,  while 
at  the  same  time  he  sent  the  boat's  head  suddenly  round, 
and  pulled  vigorously  towards  the  shore. 

"  May  I  trust  that  what  has  passed  between  us  is  a  secret, 
and  not  to  be  divulged  to  another,  —  not  even  to  your 
sister?" 

"  If  you  desire  —  if  you  exact." 

"  I   do,  most  decidedly.     It  is  shame  enough  to  be  re- 


492  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

jected.  I  don't  see  why  my  disgrace  is  to  be  paraded  either 
for  pity  or  ridicule." 

''Oh,  Mr.  Calvert  —  " 

''  Or  triumphed  over,"  said  he,  sternly,  as  he  sent  the 
boat  up  to  the  side  of  the  little  jetty,  where  Miss  Grainger 
and  her  niece  awaited  them. 

"  Poor  Loyd  has  just  got  bad  news  from  home,"  said 
Miss  Grainger,  "  and  he  has  hastened  back  to  ask,  by 
telegraph,  if  they  wish  him  to  return." 

''  Any  one  ill,  or  dying?  "  asked  Calvert,  carelessly. 

"  No,  it's  some  question  of  law  about  his  father's  vicar- 
age. There  would  seem  to  be  a  doubt  as  to  his  presenta- 
tion, —  whether  the  appointment  lay  with  the  patron  or  the 
bishop." 

Calvert  turned  to  mark  how  the  girls  received  these 
tidings,  but  they  had  walked  on,  and,  with  heads  bent  down, 
and  close  together,  were  in  deep  conversation. 

"  I  thought  it  was  only  in  my  profession,"  said  Calvert, 
sneeringly,  "  where  corrupt  patronage  was  practised.  It 
is  almost  a  comfort  to  think  how  much  the  good  people 
resemble  the  wicked  ones." 

Miss  Grainger,  who  usually  smiled  at  his  levities,  looked 
grave  at  this  one,  and  no  more  was  said,  as  they  moved  on 
towards  the  cottage. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

GROWING    DARKER. 

It  was  late  at  night  when  Calvert  left  the  villa ;  but,  instead 
of  rowing  directly  back  to  the  little  inn,  he  left  his  boat  to 
drift  slowly  in  the  scarce  perceptible  current  of  the  lake,  and 
wrapping  himself  in  his  cloak,  lay  down  to  muse  or  to 
sleep. 

It  was  just  as  day  broke  that  he  awoke,  and  saw  that  he 
had  drifted  within  a  few  yards  of  his  quarters,  and,  in  a 
moment  after,  he  was  on  shore. 

As  he  gained  his  room,  he  found  a  letter  for  him  in  Loyd*s 
hand.     It  ran  thus :  — 

T  waited  up  all  night  to  see  you  before  T  started,  for  I  have  been 
suddenly  summoned  home  by  family  circumstances.  I  was  loth  to 
part  in  an  angry  spirit,  or  even  in  coldness,  with  one  in  whose  com- 
panionship I  have  passed  so  many  happy  hours,  and  for  whom  I  feel, 
notwithstanding  what  has  passed  between  us,  a  sincere  interest. 
I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  of  much  which  I  cannot  write ;  that  is 
to  say,  I  would  have  endeavored  to  gain  a  liearing  for  what  I  dare 
not  venture  to  set  down  in  the  deliberate  calm  of  a  letter.  When  I 
own  that  it  was  of  yourself,  your  temper,  your  habits,  your  nature,  in 
short,  that  I  wished  to  have  spoken,  you  will,  perhaps,  say  that  it 
was  as  well  time  was  not  given  me  for  such  temerity.  But  bear  in 
mind,  Calvert,  that  though  I  am  free  to  admit  all  your  superiority 
over  myself,  and  never  would  presume  to  compare  my  faculties  or 
my  abilities  with  yours,  —  though  I  know  well  there  is  not  a  single 
gift  or  grace  in  which  you  are  not  my  master,  there  is  one  point  in 
which  I  have  an  advantage  over  you,  —  I  had  a  mother  I  You,  you 
have  often  cold  me,  never  remember  to  have  seen  yours.  To  that 
mother's  trainings  I  owe  anything  of  good,  however  humble  it  be, 
in  my  nature,  and,  though  the  soil  in  which  the  seed  has  fallen  be 
poor  and  barren,  so  much  of  fruit  has  it  borne  that  I  at  least 
respect  the  good  which  I  do  not  practise,  and  I  reverence  that 
virtue  to  which  1  am  a  rebel.     The  lesson,  above  all  others,  that 


494  A   RENT  IN  A   CLOUD. 

she  instilled  into  me,  was  to  avoid  the  tone  of  a  scoffer,  to  rescue 
myself  from  the- cheap  distinction  which  is  open  to  every  one  who 
sets  himself  to  see  only  ridicule  in  what  others  respect,  and  to  mock 
the  themes  that  others  regard  with  reverence.  I  stop,  for  I  am 
afraid  to  weary  you,  —  T  dread  that,  in  your  impatience,  you  will 
throw  this  down  and  read  no  more  :  I  will  only  say,  and  I  say  it  in 
all  the  sincerity  of  truth,  that  if  you  would  endeavor  to  be  morally  as 
great  as  what  your  faculties  can  make  you  intellectually,  there  is  no 
eminence  you  might  not  attain,  nor  any  you  would  not  adorn. 

If  our  intimacy  had  not  cooled  down  of  late,  from  what  causes 
I  am  unable  to  tell,  to  a  point  in  which  the  first  disagreement  must 
be  a  breach  between  us,  I  would  have  told  you  that  I  had  formed  an 
attachment  to  Florence  Walter,  and  obtained  her  aunt's  consent  to 
our  marriage,  —  I  mean,  of  course,  at  some  future  which  I  cannot 
define,  for  I  have  my  way  to  make  in  the  world,  and,  up  to  the 
present,  have  only  been  a  burden  on  others.  We  are  engaged, 
however,  and  we  live  on  hope.  Perhaps  I  presume  too  far  on  any 
interest  you  could  feel  for  me  when  I  make  you  this  communication 
It  may  be  that  you  will  say,  "  What  is  all  this  to  me  ?  "  At  all 
events,  I  have  told  you  what,  .had  I  kept  back,  would  have  seemed  to 
myself  an  uncandid  reservation.     Deal  with  it  how  you  may. 

There  is,  however,  another  reason  why  I  should  tell  you  this. 
If  you  were  unaware  of  the  relations  which  exist  between  our  friends 
and  myself,  you  might  unconsciously  speak  of  me  in  terms  which 
this  knowledge  would,  perhaps,  modify,  —  at  least,  you  would  speak 
without  the  consciousness  that  you  were  addressing  unwilling  hearers. 
You  now  know  the  ties  that  bind  us,  and  your  words  will  have  that 
significance  which  you  intend  they  should  bear. 

Remember,  and  remember  distinctly,  I  disclaim  all  pretension, 
as  I  do  all  wish,  to  conciliate  your  favor  as  regards  this  matter  : 
first,  because  I  believe  I  do  not  need  it;  and  secondly,  that  if  T 
asked  for  it,  I  should  be  unworthy  of  it.  I  scarcely  know  how,  after 
our  last  meeting,  I  stand  in  your  estimation,  but  I  am  ready  to  own 
that  if  you  would  only  suffer  yourself  to  be  half  as  good  as  your 
nature  had  intended  you  and  your  faculties  might  make  you,  you 
would  be  conferring  a  great  honor  on  being  the  friend  of  yours 
truly, 

Joseph  Loyd. 

"What  a  cant  these  fellows  acquire!  "  said  Calvert  as  he 
read  the  letter  and  threw  it  from  him.  "What  mock 
humanity!  what  downright  and  palpable  pretension  to 
superiority  through  every  line  of  it!  The  sum  of  it  all 
being,  I  can't  deny  that  you  are  cleverer,  stronger,  more 


GROWING  DARKER.  495 

active,  and  more  manly  than  me;  "but,  somehow,  I  don't 
exactly  see  why  or  how,  but  I  'm  your  better!  Well,  I  '11 
write  an  answer  to  this  one  of  these  days,  and  such  an 
answer  as  I  flatter  myself  he  '11  not  read  aloud  to  the  com- 
pany who  sit  round  the  fire  at  the  vicarage.  And  so, 
Mademoiselle  Florence,  this  was  your  anxiety,  and  this  the 
reason  for  all  that  interest  about  our  quarrel  which  I  was 
silly  enough  to  ascribe  to  a  feeling  for  myself.  How  in- 
variably it  is  so!  How  certain  it  is  that  a  woman,  the 
weakest,  the  least  experienced,  the  most  commonplace,  is 
more  than  a  match  in  astuteness  for  a  man,  in  a  question 
where  her  affections  are  concerned.  The  feminine  nature 
has  strange  contradictions.  They  can  summon  the  courage 
of  a  tigress  to  defend  their  young,  and  the  spirit  of  a 
Machiavelli  to  protect  a  lover.  She  must  have  had  some 
misgiving,  however,  that  to  prefer  a  fellow  like  this  to  me 
would  be  felt  by  me  as  an  outrage.  And  then  the  cunning 
stroke  of  implying  that  her  sister  was  not  indisposed  to 
listen  to  me.     The  perfidy  of  that!" 

Several  days  after  Loyd's  departure,  Calvert  was  loung- 
ing near  the  lake,  when  he  jumped  up,  exclaiming,  "Here 
comes  the  postman!  I  see  he  makes  a  sign  to  me.  What 
can  this  be  about?  Surely,  my  attached  friend  has  not 
written  to  me  again.  No,  this  is  a  hand  that  I  do  not 
recognize.  Let  us  see  what  it  contains."  He  opened  and 
read  as  follows :  — 

Sir,  —  I  have  received  your  letter.  None  but  a  scoundrel  could 
have  written  it !  As  all  prospect  of  connection  with  your  family 
is  now  over,  you  cannot  have  a  pretext  for  not  affording  me  such  a 
satisfaction  as,  had  you  been  a  gentleman  in  feeling  as  you  are  in 
station,  it  would  never  have  been  necessary  for  me  to  demand  from 
you.  I  leave  this,  to-morrow,  for  the  Continent,  and  will  be  at  Basle 
by  Monday  next.  I  will  remain  there  for  a  week  at  your  orders, 
and  hope  that  there  may  be  no  difficulty  to  their  speedy  fulfilment. 
I  am,  your  obedient  and  faithful  servant, 

Wentworth  Gordon  Graham. 

"The  style  is  better  than  yours.  Master  Loyd,  just 
because  it  means  something.  The  man  is  in  an  honest 
passion  and  wants  a  fight.     The  other  fellow  was  angry, 


496  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

and  begged  me  not  to  notice  it.  And  so,  Sophy,  I  have 
spoiled  the  wedding  favors,  and  scattered  the  bridesmaids! 
What  a  heavy  lesson  for  an  impertinent  note!  Poor  thing! 
why  did  she  trust  herself  with  a  pen?  Why  did  she  not 
know  that  the  most  fatal  of  all  bottles  is  the  ink-bottle? 
Precious  rage  old  Uncle  Geoffrey  must  be  in.  I  'd  like  to 
have  one  peep  at  the  general  discomfiture,  the' deserted 
dinner-table,  and  the  empty  drawing-ro^.  They  deserve 
it  all;  they  banished  me,  and  much  good  have  they  got  of 
it.  Well,  Mr.  Wentworth  Gordon  Graham  must  have  his 
wicked  way.-  The  only  difficulty  will  be  to  find  what  is  so 
absurdly  misnamed  as  a  friend.  I  must  have  a  friend;  I  '11 
run  up  to  Milan  and  search  the  hotels.  1  '11  surely  find 
some  one  who  will  like  the  cheap  heroism  of  seeing  another 
man  shot  at.  This  is  the  season  when  all  the  fellows  who 
have  no  money  for  Baden  come  across  the  Alps.  I  'm  cer- 
tain to  chance  upon  one  to  suit  me." 

Having  despatched  a  short  note,  very  politely  worded,  to 
Mr.  Graham,  to  the  post-office,  Basle,  he  ordered  a  car- 
riage, and  set  out  for  Milan. 

The  city  was  in  full  festivity  when  he  arrived,  overjoyed 
at  its  new-born  independence,  and  proud  of  the  presence 
of  its  king.  The  streets  were  crowded  with  a  holiday 
population,  and  from  all  the  balconies  and  windows  .hung 
costly  tapestries  or  gay-colored  carpets.  Military  music 
resounded  on  all  sides,  and  so  dense  was  the  throng  of 
people  and  carriages  that  Calvert  could  only  proceed  at  a 
walking  pace,  none  feeling  any  especial  care  to  make  way 
for  a  dusty  traveller,  seated  in  one  of  the  commonest  of 
country  conveyances. 

As  he  moved  slowly  and  with  difficulty  forwards,  he  sud- 
denly heard  his  name  called ;  he  looked  up,  and  saw  a  well- 
known  face,  that  of  a  brother  officer  who  had  left  India  on 
a  sick  leave  along  with  himself. 

"I  say,  old  fellow!  "  cried  Barnard,  "this  is  your  ground; 
draw  into  that  large  gate  to  your  right,  and  come  up  here." 

In  a  few  seconds,  Calvert,  escorted  by  a  waiter,  was 
shown  to  his  friend's  apartment. 

"I  never  dreamed  of  meeting  you  here,  Calvert." 

"Nor  I  of   finding   you  lodged   so   sumptuously,"  said 


GROWING  DARKER.  497 

Calvert,  as  his  eyes  ranged  over  the  splendid  room,  whose 
massive  hangings  of  silk,  and  richly  gilt  ceiling,  gave  that 
air  of  a  palace  one  so  often  sees  in  Italian  hotels. 

"Luck,  sir,  luck.  I  'm  married,  and  got  a  pot  of  money 
with  my  wife."  He  dropped  his  voice  to  a  whisper,  while, 
with  a  gesture  of  his  thumb  towards  an  adjoining  room,  he 
motioned  his  friend  to  be  cautious. 

"Who  was  she?" 

"Nobody;  that  is,  not  any  one  you  ever  heard  of. 
Stockport  people,  called  Reppingham.  The  father,  a  great 
railway  contractor,  vulgar  old  dog,  began  as,  a  navvy,  with 
one  daughter,  who  is  to  inherit,  they  say,  a  quarter  of  a 
million;  but,  up  to  this,  we've  only  an  allowance, — two 
thousand  a  year.  The  old  fellow,  however,  lives  with  us, 
—  a  horrible  nuisance."  This  speech,  given  in  short,  abrupt 
whispers,  was  uttered  with  many  signs  to  indicate  that  the 
respected  father-in-law  was  in  the  vicinity.  "Now,  of  your- 
self, what 's  your  news?     What  have  you  done  last,  eh?  " 

"  Nothing  very  remarkable.  I  have  been  vegetating  on 
a  lake  in  the  north  of  Italy,  trying  to  live  for  five  shillings 
a  day,  and  spending  three  more  in  brandy,  to  give  me 
courage  to  do  it." 

"But  your  leave  is  up;  or  perhaps  you  have  got  a 
renewal." 

"No;  my  leave  goes  to  the  fifteenth  of  October." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it;  we  got  our  leave  on  the  same  day, 
passed  the  Board  on  the  same  day,  and  for  exactly  the  same 
time.  My  leave  expired  on  the  tenth  of  August.  I  *11 
show  you  the  paper;  I  have  it  here." 

"Do  so.     Let  me  see  it." 

Barnard  opened  his  desk,  and  quickly  found  the  paper  he 
sought  for.  It  was  precisely  as  Barnard  said.  The  Board 
of  Calcutta  had  confirmed  the  regimental  recommendation, 
and  granted  a  two-years'  leave,  which  ended  on  the  tenth 
of  August. 

"Never  mind,  man,"  said  Barnard;  "get  back  to  London 
as  hard  as  you  can,  furbish  up  some  sick  certificate  to  say 
that  you  were  unable  to  quit  your  bed  — " 

"That  is  not  so  easy  as  you  imagine;  I  have  a  little 
affair  in  hand  which  may  end  in  more  publicity  than  I  have 

32 


498  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

any  fancy  for."  And  he  told  him  of  his  approaching  meet- 
ing with  Graham,  and  asked  him  to  be  his  friend. 

"What  was  the  quarrel  about?  "  asked  Barnard. 

"A  jealousy;  he  was  going  to  marry  a  little  cousin  1 
used  to  flirt  with,  and  we  got  to  words  about  it.  In  fact, 
it  is  what  Sir  Lucius  would  call  a  very  pretty  quarrel,  and 
there  's  nothing  to  be  done  but  finish  it.  You  '11  stand  by 
me,  won't  you?  " 

"I  don't  see  how  I  can.  Old  Rep,  our  governor,  never 
leaves  me.  I  'm  obliged  to  report  myself  about  four  times 
a  day." 

"But  you  know  that  can  never  go  on.  You  need  n't  be 
told  by  me  that  no,  man  can  continue  such  a  system  of 
slavery,  nor  is  there  anything  could  recompense  it.  You  '11 
have  to  teach  her  better  one  of  these  days:  begin  at  once. 
My  being  here  gives  you  a  pretext  to  begin.  Start  at 
once, — to-day.  Just  say,  'I'll  have  to  show  Calvert  the 
lions;  he  '11  want  to  hunt  up  galleries,'  and  such  like." 

''Hush!  here  comes  my  wife.  — Fanny,  let  me  present  to 
you  one  of  my  oldest  friends,  Calvert.  It 's  a  name  you 
have  often  heard  from  me." 

The  young  lady  —  she  was  not  more  than  twenty  —  was 
pleasing-looking  and  well-mannered.  Indeed,  Calvert  was 
amazed  to  see  her  so  unlike  what  he  expected:  she  was 
neither  pretentious  nor  shy;  and  had  his  friend  not  gone 
into  the  question  of  pedigree,  was  there  anything  to  mark 
a  class  in  life  other  than  his  own.  While  they  talked 
together  they  were  joined  by  her  father,  who,  however, 
more  than  realized  the  sketch  drawn  by  Barnard. 

He  was  a  morose,  down-looking  old  fellow,  with  a  furtive 
expression,  and  a  manner  of  distrust  about  him  that  showed 
itself  in  various  ways.  From  the  first,  though  Calvert  set 
vigorously  to  work  to  win  his  favor,  he  looked  with  a  sort 
of  misgiving  at  him.  He  spoke  very  little,  but  in  that 
little  there  were  no  courtesies  wasted;  and  when  Barnard 
whispered,  "You  had  better  ask  him  to  dine  with  us,  the 
invitation  will  come  better  from  you!"  the  reply  was,  "I 
won't;  do  you  hear  that?     I  won't." 

"But  he  's  an  old  brother-oflScer  of  mine,  sir;  we  served 
several  years  together." 


GROWING  DARKER.  499 

"The  worse  company  yours,  then." 

*'I  say,  Calvert,"  cried  Barnard,  aloud,  "I  must  give  you 
a  peep  at  our  gay  doings  here.  I  '11  take  you  a  drive  round 
the  town,  and  out  of  the  Porta  Orientale,  and  if  we  should 
not  be  back  at  dinner-time,  Fanny  — " 

"We'll  dine  without  you,  that's  all!"  said  the  old  man; 
while,  taking  his  daughter's  hand,  he  led  her  out  of  the 
room. 

"I  say.  Bob,  I  'd  not  change  with  you,  even  for  the  dif 
ference,"  said  Calvert. 

"I  never  saw  him  so  bad  before,"  said  the  other, 
sheepishly. 

"Because  you  never  tried  him!  Hitherto  you  have  been 
a  spaniel,  getting  kicked  and  cuffed,  and  rather  liking  it; 
but  now  that  the  sight  of  an  old  friend  has  rallied  you  to  a 
faint  semblance  of  your  former  self,  you  are  shocked  and 
horrified.  You  made  a  bad  start.  Bob ;  that  was  the  mis- 
take. You  ought  to  have  begun  by  making  him  feel  the 
immeasurable  distance  there  lay  between  him  and  a  gentle- 
man, —  not  only  in  dress,  language,  and  behavior,  but  in 
every  sentiment  and  feeling.  Having  done  this,  he  would 
have  tacitly  submitted  to  ways  that  were  not  his  own,  by 
conceding  that  they  might  be  those  of  a  class  he  had  never 
belonged  to.  You  might,  in  short,  have  ruled  him  quietly 
and  constitutionally.  Now  you  have  nothing  for  it  but  one 
thing." 

"Which  is  —  " 

"A  revolution!  Yes,  you  must  overthrow  the  whole  gov- 
ernment, and  build  up  another  out  of  the  smash.  Begin 
to-day.  We  '11  dine  together  wherever  you  like.  We  '11  go 
to  the  Scala  if  it 's  open.     We  '11  sup  —  " 

"But  Fanny?" 

"She  '11  stand  by  her  husband,  — though,  probably,  she  '11 
have  you  *up'  for  a  little  private  discipline  afterwards. 
Come,  don't  lose  time.  I  want  to  do  my  cathedral,  and  my 
gallery,  and  my  other  curiosities  in  one  day,  for  I  have 
some  matters  to  settle  at  Orto  before  I  start  for  Basle.. 
Have  they  a  club,  a  casino,  or  anything  of  the  sort  here, 
where  they  play?" 

"There  is  a  place  they  call  the  Gettone,  but  I  've  never 
been  there  but  once.'* 


500  A   RENT  IN   A   CLOUD. 

"  Well,  we  '11  finish  there  this  evening ;  for  I  want  to  win 
a  little  money,  to  pay  my  journey." 

"If  I  can  help  you  —  " 

"No,  no.  Not  to  be  thought  of.  I've  got  some  fifty 
Naps  by  me  —  tame  elephants  —  that  are  sure  to  entrap 
others.  You  must  come  with  me  to  Basle,  Bob.  You  can't 
desert  me  in  such  a  crisis,"  said  Calvert,  as  they  left  the 
inn  together.  . 

"We'll  see.  I'll  think  over  it.  The  difficulty  will 
be  —  " 

"The  impossibility  is  worse  than  a  difficulty;  and  that  is 
what  I  shall  have  to  face  if  you  abandon  me.  Why,  only 
think  of  it  for  a  moment.  Here  I  am,  jilted,  out  of  the 
army,  —  for  I  know  I  shall  lose  my  commission,  —  without  a 
guinea;  you  'd  not  surely  wish  me  to  say,  without  a  friend! 
If  it  were  not  that  it  would  be  so  selfish,  I  'd  say  the  step 
will  be  the  making  of  you.  You  '11  have  that  old  bear  so 
civilized  on  your  return  you  '11  not  know  him." 

"Do  you  really  think  so?" 

"I  know  it.  He  '11  see  at  once  that  you  '11  not  stand  this 
sort  of  bullying;  that  if  you  did,  your  friends  would  not 
stand  it.  We  sha'n't  be  away  above  four  days,  and  those 
four  days  will  give  him  a  fright  he  '11  never  forget." 

"I '11  think  over  it." 

"No.  You'll  do  it, — that's  better;  and  I'll  promise 
you  —  if  Mr.  Graham  does  not  enter  a  fatal  objection  —  to 
come  back  with  you  and  stand  to  you  through  your 
troubles." 

Calvert  had  that  about  him  in  his  strong  will,  his  resolu- 
tion, and  his  readiness  at  reply,  which  exercised  no  mean 
despotism  over  the  fellows  of  his  own  age.  And  it  was 
only  they  who  disliked  and  avoided  him  who  ever  resisted 
him.  Barnard  was  an  easy  victim,  and  before  the  day 
drew  to  its  close  he  had  got  to  believe  that  it  was  by  a 
rare  stroke  of  fortune  Calvert  had  come  to  Milan,  —  come 
to  rescue  him  from  the  "most  degrading  sort  of  bondage  a 
good  fellow  could  possibly  fall  into." 

They  dined  splendidly,  and  sent  to  engage  a  box  at  the 
Opera;  but  the  hours  passed  so  pleasantly  over  their  dinner 
that  they  forgot  all  about  it,  and  only  reached  the  theatre 
a  few  minutes  before  it  closed. 


GROWING  DARKER.  601 

"  Now  for  the  —  what  do  you  call  the  place  ?  "  cried 
Calvert. 

"TheGettone." 

"That 's  it.  I  'm  eager  to  measure  my  luck  against  these 
Milanais.  They  say,  besides,  no  fellow  has  such  a  vein  as 
when  his  life  is  threatened ;  and  I  remember  myself,  when 
I  had  the  yellow  fever  at  Galle,  I  passed  twenty-one  times 
at  ecarte,   all  because  I  was  given  over!'* 

*'What  a  fellow  you  are,  Calvert!  "  said  the  other,  with  a 
weak  man's  admiration  for  whatever  was  great,  even  in 
infamy. 

"You  '11  see  how  I  '11  clear  them  out.  But  what  have  I 
done  with  my  purse?  Left  it  on  my  dressing-table.  I 
suppose  they  are  honest  in  the  hotel  ?  '* 

"Of  course  they  are.  It's  all  safe;  and  I've  more 
money  about  me  than  you  want.  Old  Rep  handed  me  three 
thousand  francs  this  morning  to  pay  the  bill,  and  when  I 
saw  you,  I  forgot  all  about  it." 

"Another  element  of  luck,'*  cried  Calvert,  joyously. 
**The  money  that  does  not  belong  to  a  man  always  wins. 
Why,  there  's  five  thousand  francs  here,"  said  Calvert,  as 
he  counted  over  the  notes. 

"Two  of  them  are  Fanny's.  She  got  her  quarter's 
allowance  yesterday.  Stingy,  isn't  it?  Only  three  hun- 
dred a  year." 

"It's  downright  disgraceful.  She  ought  to  have  eight 
at  the  very  least;  but  wait  till  we  come  back  from  Basle. 
You  '11  not  believe  what  a  change  I  '11  work  in  that  old 
fellow,   when  I  take  him   in  hand." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  Gettone,  and,  after  a 
brief  colloquy,  were  suffered  to  pass  upstairs  and  enter  the 
rooms. 

"Oh,  it's  faro  they  play, — my  own  game,"  whispered 
Calvert.  "I  was  afraid  the  fellows  might  have  indulged  in 
some  of  their  own  confounded  things,  which  no  foreigner 
can  compete  in.     At  faro  I  fear  none." 

While  Barnard  joined  a  group  of  persons  round  a  roulette- 
table,  where  fashionably  dressed  women  adventured  their 
franc-pieces  along  with  men  clad  in  the  most  humble  mode, 
Calvert  took  his  place  among  the  faro  players.     The  bold- 


602  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

ness  of  his  play,  and  the  reckless  way  he  adventured  his 
money,  could  not  conceal  from  their  practised  acuteness 
that  he  was  master  of  the  game,  and  they  watched  him 
attentively. 

"I  think  I  have  nearly  cleaned  them  out,  Bob,"  cried  he 
to  his  friend,  as  he  pointed  to  a  heap  of  gold  and  silver 
which  lay  promiscuously  piled  up  before  him. 

"I  suppose  you  must  give  them  their  revenge?"  whis- 
pered the  other,  "if  they  wish  for  it." 

"Nothing  of  the  kind.  At  a  public  table,  a  winner  rises 
when  he  pleases.  If  I  continue  to  sit  here  now,  it  is 
because  that  old  fellow  yonder  has  got  a  rouleau  in  his 
pocket  which  he  cannot  persuade  himself  to  break.  See, 
he  has  taken  it  out,  —  for  the  fourth  time,  this  is.  I 
wonder  can  he  screw  up  his  courage  to  risk  it.  Yes!  he 
has!  There  go  ten  pieces  on  the  queen.  Go  back  to  your 
flirtation  with  the  blond  ringlets,  and  don't  disturb  my 
game.  I  must  have  that  fellow's  rouleau  before  i  leave. 
Go  back,   and  I  '11  not  tell  your  wife." 

It  was  in  something  less  than  an  hour  after  this  that 
Barnard  felt  a  hand  laid  on  his  shoulder,  and,  looking  up, 
saw  Calvert  standing  over  him.  "Well,  it  took  you  some 
time  to  finish  that  old  fellow,   Calvert!" 

"He  finished  me^  which  was  worse.  Have  you  got  a 
cigar?  " 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  lost  all  your  winnings?  " 

"Yes,  and  your  five  thousand  francs  besides,  not  to 
speak  of  a  borrowed  thousand  from  some  one  I  have  given 
my  card  to.     A  bore,  is  n't  it?  " 

"It 's  more  than  a  bore,  —  it 's  a  bad  business.  I  don't 
know  how  I  '11  settle  it  with  the  landlord." 

"Give  him  a  bill,  he'll  never  be  troublesome;  and,  as  to 
your  wife's  money,  tell  her  frankly  you  lost  it  at  play.  — 
Isn't  that  the  best  way,  madame?"  said  he,  addressing 
a  young  and  pretty  woman  at  his  side.  "I  am  advising 
my  friend  to  be  honest  with  his  wife,  and  confess  that  he 
spent  his  money  in  very  pleasant  company.  —  Come  along 
out  of  this  stuffy  place.  Let  us  have  a  walk  in  the  fresh 
cool  air,  and  a  cigar  if  you  have  one.  I  often  wonder," 
said  he,  as  they  gained  the  street,  "how  the  fellows  who 


GROWING  DARKER.  503 

write  books  and  want  to  get  up  sensation  scenes,  don't 
come  and  do  something  of  this  sort.  There  's  a  marvellous 
degree  of  stimulant  in  being  cleaned  out,  not  only  of  one's 
own  cash,  but  of  one's  credit;  and  by  credit  I  mean  it  in 
the  French  sense,  which  says,  'Le  credit  est  1' argent  des 
autres.'  " 

**I  wish  you  had  not  lost  that  money,**  muttered  the 
other. 

"So  do  I.  I  have  combativeness  very  strong,  and  I  hate 
being  beaten  by  any  one  in  anything." 

"  1  'm  thinking  of  the  money !  "  said  the  other,  doggedly. 

"Naturally,  for  it  was  yours.  "T  was  mine,  'tis  his,* 
as  Hamlet  has  it.  Great  fellow,  Hamlet!  I  don't  suppose 
that  any  one  ever  drew  a  character  wherein  Gentleman  was 
so  distinctly  painted  as  Hamlet.  He  combined  all  the 
grandest  ideas  of  his  class  with  a  certain  'disinvoltura  '  — 
a  sort  of  high-bred  levity  —  that  relieved  his  sternness, 
and  made  him  much  better  company  than  such  fellows  as 
Laertes  and  Horatio." 

"When  you  saw  luck  turning,  why  didn't  you  leave 
off?" 

"Why  not  ask  why  the  luck  turned  before  I  left  off? 
That  would  be  the  really  philosophic  inquiry.  Is  n't  it 
chilly?" 

"I  'm  not  cold,  but  I  'm  greatly  provoked.** 

*'So  am  I,  for  you;  for  I  have  n't  got  enough  to  repay 
you.  But  trust  me  to  arrange  the  matter  in  the  morning. 
The  landlord  will  see  the  thing  with  the  eyes  of  his  calling. 
He  '11  soon  perceive  that  the  son-in-law  of  a  man  who 
travels  with  two  carriages,  and  can't  speak  one  word  of 
French,  is  one  to  be  trusted.  I  mean  him  to  cash  a  bill  for 
us  before  I  leave.  Old  Rep's  white  hat  and  brown  spencer 
are  guarantees  for  fifty  thousand  francs  in  any  city  of 
Europe.  There  's  a  solvent  vulgarity  in  the  very  creak  of 
his  shoes." 

"Oh,  he  's  not  a  very  distinguished -looking  person,  cer- 
tainly," said  Barnard,  who  now  resented  the  liberty  he  had 
himself  led  the  way  to. 

"There  I  differ  with  you;  /  call  him  eminently  distin- 
guished, and  I  'd  rather  be  able  to  'come  '  that  cravat  tie, 


504  A  KENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

and  have  the  pattern  of  the  dark-green  waistcoat  with  the 
red  spots,  than  I  'd  have  —  what  shall  I  say?  —  all  the  crisp 
bank  paper  I  lost  a  while  ago.  You  are  not  going  in, 
surely  ?  "  cried  he,  as  the  other  rang  violently  at  the  hotel. 

"Yes;  I  am  very  tired  of  this  footing.  I  wish  you 
hadn't  lost  that  money." 

"Do  you  remember  how  it  goes,  Bob? 

"  *  His  weary  song, 
The  whole  day  long, 
Was  still  I'argent,  I'argent,  I'argent !  * 

She  is  complaining  that  though  the  linnet  is  singing  in  the 
trees,  and  the  trout  leaping  in  the  river,  her  tiresome  hus- 
band could  only  liken  them  to  the  clink  of  the  gold  as  it 
fell  on  the  counter?  Why,  man,  you  '11  wake  the  dead  if 
you  ring  ih  that  fashion ! " 

"I  want  to  get  in." 

''Here  comes  the  fellow  at  last;  how  disgusted  he  *11  be 
to  find  there's  not  a  five- franc  piece  between  us!" 

Scarcely  was  the  door  opened  than  Barnard  passed  in, 
and  left  him,  without  even  a  good- night. 


•CHAPTER  IX. 

ON   THE    ROAD. 

Calvert's  first  care  as  he  entered  his  room  was  to  ascertain 
if  his  purse  was  there.  It  was  all  safe  and  untouched. 
He  next  lit  a  cigar,  and,  opening  his  window,  leaned  out  to 
smoke.  It  was  a  glorious  autumn  night,  —  still,  starry,  and 
cloudless.  Had  any  one  from  the  street  beneath  seen  him 
there,  he  might  have  said,  "There  is  some  wearied  man  of 
brain-labor,  taking  his  hour  of  tranquil  thought  l3efore  he 
betakes  himself  to  rest;  or  he  is  one  of  those  contemplative 
natures  who  loves  to  be  free  to  commune  with  his  own 
heart  in  the  silence  of  a  calm  night."  He  looked  like  this, 
and  perhaps  —  who  knows  if  he  were  not  nearer  it  than  we 
wot  of? 

It  was  nigh  daybreak  before  he  lay  down  to  sleep.  Nor 
had  he  been  fully  an  hour  in  slumber  when  he  was  awoke, 
and  found  Barnard,  dressed  in  a  morning  gown  and  slip- 
pers, standing  beside  his  bed. 

"I  say,  Calvert,  rub  your  eyes  and  listen  to  me.  Are 
you  awake?" 

"  Not  very  perfectly ;  but  quite  enough  for  anything  you 
can  have  to  say.     What  is  it?  " 

''I  am  so  fretted  about  that  money." 

*'Why,  you  told  me  that  last  night,"  said  Calvert,  address- 
ing himself,  as  it  were,  again  to  sleep. 

"Oh,  it 's  all  very  fine  and  very  philosophic  to  be  indif- 
ferent about  another  man's  '  tin' ;  but  I  tell  you  I  don't 
know  what  to  do,  what  to  say  about  it.  I  'm  not  six  weeks 
married,  and  it 's  rather  early  to  come  to  rows  and  alter- 
cations with  a  father-in-law." 

"  Address  him  to  me.  Say,  *  Go  to  Calvert,  —  he  '11  talk  to 
you.'  Do  that  like  a  good  fellow,  and  go  to  bed.  Good- 
night." 


606  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

"I'll  not  stand  this  sort  of  thing,  Calvert.  I'm  not 
going  to  lose  my  money  and  be  laughed  at  too!  " 

"You'll  not  stand  what?"  cried  Calvert,  sitting  up  in 
bed,  and  looking  now  thoroughly  awake. 

"I  mean,"  said  the  other,  doggedly,  "you  have  got  me 
into  a  confounded  scrape,  and  you  are  bound  to  get  me  out 
of  it." 

"That  is  speaking  like  a  man  of  sense.  It  is  what  I 
intend  to  do;  but  can't  we  sleep  over  it  first?  I  want  what 
the  old  ladies  call  my  'natural  rest.'" 

"There  's  no  time  for  that.  The  old  governor  is  always 
pottering  about  by  six  o'clock,  and  it 's  just  as  likely,  as 
the  landlord  talks  English,  he  '11  be  down  by  way  of  gossip- 
ing with  him,  and  ask  if  the  bill  is  settled." 

"What  an  old  beast  he  must  be!  I  wonder  you  could 
have  married  into  such  a  vulgar  set." 

"  If  you  have  nothing  to  say  but  abuse  of  my  connections, 
I  am  not  going  to  waste  any  more  time  here." 

"There,  that 's  a  dear  fellow;  go  to  bed  now,  and  call  me 
somewhere  towards  four  in  the  afternoon.'* 

"This  is  rather  more  than  a  joke." 

"To  be  sure  it  is,  man;  it  is  dead  sleepiness.  Good- 
night." 

"I  see  you  have  found  your  purse,  —  how  much  had  you 
in  it?" 

"Count  it,  if  you  're  curious,"  said  Calvert,  drowsily. 

"Fifty-four  Napoleons  and  a  half,"  said  the  other, 
slowly.  "Look  ye,  Calvert,  I  'm  going  to  impound  this. 
It 's  a  sorry  instalment,  but,  as  far  as  it  goes  —  " 

"Take  it,  old  fellow,  and  leave  me  quiet." 

"One  word  more,  Calvert,"  said  Barnard,  seriously.  "I 
cannot  muster  courage  to  meet  old  Rep  this  morning,  and 
if  you  like  to  start  at  once  and  settle  this  affair  you 
have  in  Switzerland,  I'm  ready;  but  it  must  be  done 
instanter." 

"All  right;  I  shall  be  ready  within  an  hour.  Tell  the 
porter  to  send  my  bath  up  at  once,  and  order  coffee  by  the 
time  you  '11  be  dressed." 

There  was  very  little  trace  of  sleep  about  Calvert's  face 
now,  as,  springing  from  his  bed,  he  prepared  for  the  road. 


ON  THE  ROAD.  607 

With  such  despatch,  indeed,  did  he  proceed  that  he  was 
already  in  the  coffee-room  before  his  friend  had  descended. 

"  Shall  we  say  anything  to  the  landlord  before  we  start, 
Calvert?"  whispered  he. 

"Of  course;  send  Signor  Angelo,  or  Antonio,  or  what- 
ever his  name,  here.  The  padrone,  I  mean,"  said  he  to  the 
waiter. 

"He  is  called  Luigi  Filippo,  sir,"  said  the  man, 
indignantly. 

"A  capital  name  for  a  rogue.     Let  us  have  him  here." 

A  very  burly,  consequential  sort  of  man,  marvellously  got 
up  as  to  beard,  moustaches,  and  watch-chain,  entered  and 
bowed. 

"Signor  Luigi  Filippo,"  said  Calvert,  "my  friend  here 
—  the  son  of  that  immensely  wealthy  mi  Lordo  upstairs  — 
is  in  a  bit  of  scrape;  he  had  an  altercation  last  night  with 
a  fellow  we  take  to  be  an  Austrian  spy." 

The  host  spat  out,  and  frowned  ferociously. 

"Just  so;  a  dog  of  a  Croat,  I  suspect,"  went  on  Calvert. 
"  At  all  events,  he  must  put  a  bullet  in  him,  and  to  do  so, 
must  get  over  the  frontier  beyond  Como;  we  want,  there- 
fore, a  little  money  from  you,  and  your  secrecy,  till  this 
blows  over." 

The  host  bowed,  and  pursed  up  his  lips  like  one  who 
would  like  a  little  time  for  reflection,  and  at  last  said, 
"How  much  money,  Signor?" 

"What  do  you  say.  Bob?  will  a  hundred  Naps  do,  or 
eighty?" 

"Fifty;  fifty  are  quite  enough,"  cried  Barnard. 

"On  a  circular  note,  of  course,  Signor?"  asked  the  host. 

"No,  a  draft  at  six  days  on  my  friend's  father;  mi  Lordo 
means  to  pass  a  month  here." 

"I  don't  think  I  '11  do  that,  Calvert,"  whispered  Barnard; 
but  the  other  stopped  him  at  once  with  "Be  quiet;  leave 
this  to  me." 

"Though  payable  at  sight,  Signor  Luigi,  we  shall  ask 
you  to  hold  it  over  for  five  or  six  days,  because  we  hope 
possibly  to  be  back  here  before  Saturday,  and  if  so,  we  '11 
settle  this  ourselves." 

"It  shall  be  done,  gentlemen,"  said  the  host.     "I'll  go 


608  A  KENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

and  draw  out  the  bills,  and  you  shall  have  the  money 
immediately." 

"How  I  touched  the  fellow's  patriotism,  Bob.  It  was 
the  Austrian  dodge  stood  us  in  stead,  there.  I  know  that  I 
have  jeopardized  your  esteem  for  me  by  the  loss  of  that 
money  last  night ;  but  do  confess  that  this  was  a  clever  hit 
of  mine." 

"It's  a  bad  business  from  beginning  to  endl"  was,  how- 
ever, all  that  he  could  obtain  from  Barnard. 

"Narrow-minded  dog!  he  won't  see  any  genius  in  a  man 
that  owes  him  five  shillings." 

"I  wish  it  was  only  five  shillings." 

"What  an  ignoble  confession!  It  means  this,  that  your 
friendship  depends  on  the  rate  of  exchanges,  and  that  when 
gold  rises  —  But  here  comes  Luigi  Filippo.  Now,  no 
squeamishness,  but  write  your  name  firmly.  *Cut  boldly,' 
said  the  auger,  'and  he  cut  it  through.'  Don't  you  remem- 
ber that  classic  anecdote  in  your  Roman  history?" 

It  is  a  strange  fact  that  the  spirit  of  raillery,  which  to  a 
dull  man  is,  at  first,  but  a  source  of  irritation  and  fi^etful- 
ness,  will,  when  persevered  in,  become  at  last  one  of  the 
most  complete  despotisms.  He  dreads  it  as  a  weapon 
which  he  cannot  defend  himself  against;  and  he  comes  to 
regard  it  as  an  evidence  of  superiority  and  power.  Barnard 
saw  the  dominion  that  the  other  exercised  over  him,  but 
could  not  resist  it. 

"  Where  to  now  ? "  asked  he,  as  they  whirled  rapidly 
along  the  road  towards  Monza. 

"First  of  all,  to  Orta.  There  is  an  English  family  I 
want  to  see.  Two  prettier  girls  you  can't  imagine,  —  not 
that  the  news  has  any  interest  for  you,  poor  caged  mouse 
that  you  are ;  but  I  am  in  love  with  one  of  them.  I  forget 
which,  but  I  believe  it 's  the  one  that  won't  have  me." 

"She  's  right,"  said  Barnard,  with  a  half  smile. 

"Well,  I  half  suspect  she  is.  I  could  be  a  charming 
lover,  but  I  fear  I  'd  make  only  a  sorry  husband.  My 
qualities  are  too  brilliant  for  every-day  use.  It  is  your 
dreary  fellows,  with  a  tiresome  monotony  of  nature,  do  best 
in  that  melancholy  mill  they  call  marriage.  You,  for 
instance,  ought  to  be  a  model  *mari.'" 


ON  THE   ROAD.  609 

"You  are  not  disposed  to  give  me  the  chance,  I  think," 
said  Barnard,  peevishly. 

"On  the  contrary,  I  am  preparing  you  most  carefully  for 
your  career.  Conjugal  life  is  a  reformatory.  You  must 
come  to  it  as  a  penitent.  Now,  I  '11  teach  you  the  first  part 
of  your  lesson;  your  wife  shall  supply  the  second." 

"I  'd  relish  this  much  better  if  —  " 

"  I  had  not  lost  that  money,  you  were  going  to  say.  Out 
with  it,  man.  When  a  fellow  chances  upon  a  witty  thing, 
he  has  a  right  to  repeat  it;  besides,  you  have  reason  on 
your  side.  A  loser  is  always  wrong.  But  after  all.  Bob, 
whether  the  game  be  war,  or  marriage,  or  a  horse-race, 
one's  skill  has  very  little  to  say  to  it.  Make  the  wisest 
combinations  that  ever  were  fashioned,  and  you  '11  lose 
sometimes.  Draw  your  card  at  hazard,  and  you  '11  win. 
If  you  only  saw  the  fellow  that  beat  me  t'  other  day  in  a 
girl's  affections,  — as  dreary  a  dog  as  ever  you  met  in  your 
life,  without  manliness,  without  'go'  in  him;  and  yet  he 
wasn't  a  curate.     I  know  you  suspect  he  was  a  curate." 

"  If  you  come  through  this  affair  all  right,  what  do  you 
intend  to  turn  to,  Calvert?  "  said  the  other,  who  really  felt 
a  sort  of  interest  in  his  fortunes. 

"  I  have  thought  of  several  things,  —  the  Church,  the 
Colonies,  Patent  Fuel,  Marriage,  Turkish  Baths,  and  a 
Sympathy  Society  for  Suffering  Nationalities,  with  a  limited 
liability  to  all  who  subscribe  fifty  pounds  and  upwards." 

"  But,  seriously,  have  you  any  plans  ?  " 

"  Ten  thousand  plans !  I  have  plans  enough  to  ruin  all 
Threadneedle  Street;  but  what  use  are  plans?  What's  the 
good  of  an  architect  in  a  land  where  there  are  no  bricks,  no 
mortar,  and  no  timber?  When  I  've  shot  Graham,  I  've  a 
plan  how  to  make  my  escape  out  of  Switzerland ;  but,  be- 
yond that,  nothing,  —  not  one  step,  I  promise  you.  See, 
yonder  is  Monte  Rosa ;  how  grand  he  looks  in  the  still  calm 
air  of  the  morning.  What  a  gentleman  a  mountain  is !  how 
independent  of  the  changful  fortunes  of  the  plains,  where 
grass  succeeds  tillage,  and  what  is  barley  to-day  may  be  a 
brick-field  to-morrow;  but  the  mountain  is  ever  the  same, 
—  proud  and  cold  if  you  will,  but  standing  above  all  the 
accidents   of  condition,  and   asserting   itself   by  qualities 


610  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

which  are  not  money-getting.  I  *d  like  to  live  in  a  land  of 
mountains,  if  it  were  not  for  the  snobs  that  come  to  climb 
them." 

"But  why  should  they  be  snobs?  " 

"I  don't  know;  perhaps  the  mountains  like  it.  There, 
look  yonder,  —  our  road  leads  along  that  ledge  till  we  reach 
Chiasso,  about  twelve  miles  off ;  do  you  think  you  can  last 
that  long  without  breakfast?  There,  there,  don't  make  that 
pitiful  face ;  you  shall  have  your  beefsteak,  and  your  choco- 
late, and  your  eggs,  and  all  the  other  claims  of  your  Anglo- 
Saxon  nature,  whose  birthright  it  is  to  growl  for  every 
twenty-four  hours,   and  'grub '  every  two." 

They  gained  the  little  inn  at  Orta  by  the  evening,  and 
learned,  as  Calvert  expected,  that  nothing  had  changed  in 
his  absence,  —  indeed,  what  was  there  to  change,  so  long 
as  the  family  at  the  villa  remained  in  the  cottage?  All 
was  to  Calvert  as  he  left  it. 

Apologizing  to  his  friend  for  a  brief  absence,  he  took 
boat  and  crossed  the  lake.  It  was  just  as  they  had  sat 
down  to  tea  that  he  entered  the  drawing-room.  If  there 
was  some  constraint  in  the  reception  of  him,  there  was  that 
amount  of  surprise  at  his  appearance  that  half  masked 
it.  "You  have  been  away,  Mr.  Calvert?"  asked  Miss 
Grainger. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  carelessly,  "I  got  a  rambling  fit  on  me; 
and  finding  that  Loyd  had  started  for  England,  I  grew 
fidgety  at  being  alone,  so  I  went  up  to  Milan,  saw  churches 
and  galleries,  and  the  last  act  of  a  ballet;  but,  like  a  coun- 
try mouse,  got  home-sick  for  the  hard  peas  and  the  hollow 
tree,  and  hurried  back  again." 

After  some  careless  talk  of  commonplaces  he  managed  at 
last  to  secure  the  chair  beside  Florence's  sofa,  and  affected 
to  take  an  interest  in  some  work  she  was  engaged  at.  "  I 
have  been  anxious  to  see  you  and  to  speak  to  you,  Florry," 
said  he,  in  a  low  tone  not  audible  by  the  others.  "I  had 
a  letter  from  Loyd,  written  just  before  he  left.  He  has  told 
me  everything." 

She  only  bent  down  her  head  more  deeply  over  her  work, 
but  did  not  speak. 

"Yes;    he  was   more  candid  than   you,"    continued   he. 


ON  THE   ROAD.  611 

••He  said  you  were  engaged,  — that  is,  that  you  had  owned 
to  him  that  you  liked  him,  and  that  when  the  consent  he 
hoped  for  would  be  obtained,  you  would  be  married." 

*' How  came  he  to  write  this  to  you?"  said  she,  with  a 
slight  tremor  in  her  voice. 

''In  this  wise,"  said  he,  calmly.  "He  felt  that  he  owed 
me  an  apology  for  something  that  had  occurred  between  us 
on  that  morning ;  and,  when  making  his  excuses,  he  deemed 
he  could  give  no  better  proof  of  frankness  than  by  this 
avowal.  It  was,  besides,  an  act  of  fairness  towards  one 
who,  trusting  to  his  own  false  light,  might  have  been  lured 
to  delusive  hopes." 

^'Perhaps  so,"  said  she,  coldly. 

"It  was  very  right  of  him,  very  proper." 

She  nodded. 

'*It  was  more,  —  it  was  generous.'* 

"He  U  generous,"  said  she,  warmly. 

"He  had  need  be." 

"  How  do  you  mean,  that  he  had  need  be  ?  "  asked  she, 
eagerly. 

"  I  mean  this,  —  that  he  will  require  every  gift  he  has, 
and  every  grace,  to  outbalance  the  affection  which  I  bear 
you,*  which  I  shall  never  cease  to  bear  you.  You  prefer 
him.  Now,  you  may  regard  me  how  you  will;  I  will  not 
consent  to  believe  myself  beaten.  Yes,  Florence,  I  know 
not  only  that  I  love  you  more  than  he  does,  but  I  love  you 
with  a  love  he  is  incapable  of  feeling.  I  do  not  wish  to 
say  one  word  In  his  dispraise,  lea^t  of  all  to  you,  in  whose 
favor  I  want  to  stand  well;  but  I  wish  you  —  and  it  is  no 
unfair  request  —  to  prove  the  affection  of  the  two  men  who 
solicit  your  love." 

"I  am  satisfied  with  his." 

"You  may  be  satisfied  with  the  version  your  own  imagi- 
nation renders  of  it.  You  may  be  satisfied  with  the  picture 
you  have  colored  for  yourself;  but  I  want  you  to  be  just  to 
yourself,  and  just  to  me.  Now,  if  I  can  show  you  in  his 
own  handwriting,  —  the  ink  only  dried  on  the  paper  a  day 
ago,  —  a  letter  from  him  to  me,  in  which  he  asks  my  pardon 
in  terms  so  abject  as  never  were  wrung  from  any  man, 
except  under  the  pressure  of  a  personal  fear?" 


512  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

"You  say  this  to  outrage  me. — Aunt  Grainger,"  cried 
she,  in  a  voice  almost  a  scream,  "  listen  to  what  this  gentle- 
man has  had  the  temerity  to  tell  me.  —  Repeat  it  now,  sir, 
if  you  dare.*'' 

"What  is  this,  Mr.  Calvert?  You  have  not  surely 
presumed  —  " 

"  I  have  simply  presumed,  madam,  to  place  my  pretensions 
in  rivalry  with  Mr.  Loyd's.  I  have  been  offering  to  your 
niece  the  half  of  a  very  humble  fortune,  with  a  name  not 
altogether  ignoble." 

"Oh  dear,  Mr.  Calvert,"  cried  the  old  lady,  "I  never 
suspected  this.  I  'm  sure  my  niece  is  aware  of  the  great 
honor  we  all  feel,  —  at  least,  I  do  most  sensibly,  —  that,  if 
she  was  not  already  engaged  —  Are  you  ill,  dearest  ?  Oh, 
she  has  fainted.  Leave  us,  Mr.  Calvert.  Send  Maria  here. 
Milly,  some  water  immediately." 

For  more  than  an  hour  Calvert  walked  the  little  grass- 
plot  before  the  door,  and  no  tidings  came  to  him  from  those 
within.  To  a  momentary  bustle  and  confusion,  a  calm  suc- 
ceeded; lights  flitted  here  and  there  through  the  cottage. 
He  fancied  he  heard  something  like  sobbing,  and  then  all 
was  still  and  silent. 

"Are  you  there,  Mr.  Calvert?"  cried  Milly,  at  last,  as 
she  moved  out  into  the  dark  night  air.  "She  is  better 
now,  —  much  better.  She  seems  inclined  to  sleep,  and  we 
have  left  her." 

"You  know  how  it  came  on?"  asked  he,  in  a  whisper. 
"You  know  what  brought  it  about?" 

"No;  nothing  of  it." 

"It  was  a  letter  that  I  showed  her,  —  a  letter  of  Loyd's 
to  myself,  —  conceived  in  such  terms  as  no  man  of,  I  will 
not  say  of  spirit,  but  a  common  pretension  to  the  sense  of 
gentleman,  could  write.  Wait  a  moment;  don't  be  angry 
with  me  till  you  hear  me  out.  We  had  quarrelled  in  the 
morning.  It  was  a  serious  quarrel,  on  a  very  serious 
question.  I  thought,  of  course,  that  all  young  men,  at 
least,  regard  these  things  in  the  same  way.  Well,  he  did 
not.  I  have  no  need  to  say  more ;  he  did  not,  and  conse- 
quently nothing  could  come  of  it.  At  all  events,  I  deemed 
that  the  man  who  could  not  face  an  adversary  had  no  right 


THE   ROAD.  613 

to  brave  a  rival,  and  so  I  intimated  to  him.  For  the  second 
time  he  differed  with  me,  and  dared  in  my  own  presence  to 
prosecute  attentions  which  I  had  ordered  him  to  abandon. 
This  was  bad  enough,  but  there  was  worse  to  come,  for,  on 
my  return  home  from  this,  I  found  a  letter  from  him  in  the 
most  abject  terms;  asking  my  pardon  —  for  what?  —  for 
my  having  insulted  him,  and  begging  me,  in  words  of 
shameful  humility,  to  let  him  follow  up  his  courtship,  and, 
if  he  could,  secure  the  hand  of  your  sister.  Now  she 
might,  or  might  not,  accept  my  offer.  I  am  not  coxcomb 
enough  to  suppose  I  must  succeed  simply  because  I  wish 
success ;  but  putting  myself  completely  out  of  the  question, 
could  I  suffer  a  girl  I  deemed  worthy  of  my  love,  and  whom 
I  desired  to  make  my  wife,  to  fall  to  the  lot  of  one  so 
base  as  this?  I  ask  you,  was  there  any  other  course  open 
to  me  than  to  show  her  the  letter  ?  Perhaps  it  was  rash ; 
perhaps  I  ought  to  have  shown  it  first  of  all  to  Miss 
Grainger.  I  can't  decide  this  point.  It  is  too  subtle  for 
me.  I  only  know  that  what  I  did  I  should  do  again,  no 
matter  what  the  consequences  might  be." 

"  And  this  letter,  has  she  got  it  still  ?  "  asked  Milly. 

"No,  neither  she  nor  any  other  will  ever  read  it  now.  I 
have  torn  it  to  atoms.  The  wind  has  carried  the  last  frag- 
ment at  this  moment  over  the  lake." 

"Oh  dear!  what  misery  all  this  is,"  cried  the  girl  in  an 
accent  of  deep  affliction.  "If  you  knew  how  she  is 
attached  —  "  Then,  suddenly  checking  the  harsh  indiscre- 
tion of  her  words,  she  added,  "I  am  sure  you  did  all  for 
the  best,  Mr.  Calvert.  I  must  go  back  now.  You  '11  come 
and  see  us,  or  perhaps  you  '11  let  me  write  to  you,  to- 
morrow." 

"I  have  to  say  good-bye,  now,"  said  he,  sadly.  "I  may 
see  you  all  again  within  a  week.  It  may  be  this  is  a  good- 
bye forever." 

He  kissed  her  hand  as  he  spoke,  and  turned  to  the  lake, 
where  his  boat  was  lying. 

"  How  amazed  she  '11  be  to  hear  that  she  saw  a  letter  — 
read  it  —  held  it  in  her  hands,"  muttered  he;  "but  I '11 
stake  my  life  she  '11  never  doubt  the  fact  when  it  is  told  to 
her  by  those  who  believe  it." 

33 


514  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

"You  seem  to  be  in  rare  spirits,"  said  Barnard,  when 
Calvert  returned  to  the  inn.  "Have  you  proposed  and  been 
accepted  ?  " 

"Not  exactly,"  said  the  other,  smiling,  "but  I  have  had 
a  charming  evening,  —  one  of  those  fleeting  moments  of  that 
'vie  de  famille '  Balzac  tells  us  are  worth  all  our  wild  and 
youthful  excesses." 

"Yes!"  replied  Barnard,  scoflSngly;  "domesticity  would 
seem  to  be  your  forte.  Heaven  help  your  wife,  say  I,  if 
you  ever  have  one !  " 

"  You  don't  seem  to  be  aware  how  you  disparage  conjugal 
life,  my  good  friend,  when  you  speak  of  it  as  a  thing  in 
which  men  of  your  stamp  are  the  ornaments.  It  would  be 
a  sorry  institution  if  its  best  requirements  were  a  dreary 
temperament  and  a  disposition  that  mistakes  moodiness  for 
morality." 

"Good-night;  I  have  had  enough,"  said  the  other,  and 
left  the  room. 

"What  a  pity  to  leave  such  a  glorious  spot  on  such  a 
morning,"  said  Calvert,  as  he  stood  waiting  while  the  post- 
horses  were  being  harnessed.  "If  we  had  but  been  good 
boys,  as  we  might  have  been,  —  that  is,  if  you  had  not 
fallen  into  matrimony,  and  1  into  a  quarrel,  —  we  should 
have  such  a  daj^'s  fishing  here!  Yonder,  where  you  see  the 
lemon-trees  hanging  over  the  rock,  in  the  pool  underneath 
there  are  some  twelve  and  fourteen  'pounders,'  as  strong  as 
a  good-size  pike;  and  then  we'd  have  grilled  them  under 
the  chestnut-trees,  and  talked  away,  as  we  've  done  scores 
of  times,  of  the  great  figure  we  were  to  make  —  I  don't 
know  when  or  how,  but  some  time,  and  in  some  wise  —  in 
the  world;  astonishing  all  our  relations,  and  putting  to 
utter  shame  and  confusion  that  private  tutor  at  Dorking 
who  would  persist  in  auguring  the  very  worst  of  us." 

"Is  that  the  bill  that  you  are  tearing  up?  Let  me  see  it. 
"What  does  he  charge  for  that  Grignolino  wine  and  those 
bad  cigars?"  broke  in  Barnard. 

"What  do  I  know  or  care?  "  said  Calvert,  with  a  saucy 
laugh.  "If  you  possessed  a  schoolboy's  money-box  with 
a  slit  in  it  to  hold  your  savings,  there  would  be  some  sense 


ON  THE   ROAD.  515 

in  looking  after  the  five-franc  pieces  you  could  rescue  from 
a  cheating  landlord,  and  add  to  your  store;  but  when  you 
know  in  your  heart  that  you  are  never  the  richer  nor  the 
better  of  the  small  economies  that  are  only  realized  at  the 
risk  of  an  apoplexy  and  some  very  profane  expressions,  my 
notion  is,  never  mind  them,  — never  fret  about  them." 

"You  talk  like  a  millionnaire,"  said  the  other,  con- 
temptuously. 

"It  is  all  the  resemblance  that  exists  between  us,  Bob; 
not,  however,  that  I  believe  Baron  Rothschild  himself  could 
moralize  over  the  insufficiency  of  wealth  to  happiness  as  I 
could.  Here  comes  our  team,  and  I  must  say  a  sorrier  set 
of  screws  never  tugged  in  a  rope  harness.  Get  in  first.  I 
like  to  show  all  respect  to  the  man  who  pays.  —  I  say,  my 
good  fellow,"  cried  he  to  the  postilion,  "drive  your  very 
best,  for  mi  Lordo  here  is  immensely  rich,  and  would  just 
as  soon  give  you  five  gold  Marengos  as  five  francs." 

"What  was  it  you  said  to  him?  "  asked  Barnard,  as  they 
started  at  a  gallop. 

"I  said  he  must  not  spare  his  cattle,  for  we  were  running 
away  from  our  creditors." 

"How  could  you  —  " 

"How  could  I?  What  nonsense,  man!  besides,  I  wanted 
the  fellow  to  take  an  interest  in  us,  and,  you  see,  so  he  has. 
Old  Johnson  was  right:  there  are  few  pleasures  more 
exhilarating  than  being  whirled  along  a  good  road  at  the 
top  speed  of  post-horses." 

"I  suppose  you  saw  that  girl  you  are  in  love  with?"  said 
Barnard,  after  a  pause. 

"Yes;  two  of  them.  Each  of  the  sirens  has  got  a  lien 
upon  my  heart,  and  I  really  can't  say  which  of  them  holds 
*the  preference  shares.'  " 

"Is  there  money?  " 

"Not  what  a  great  Croesus  like  yourself  would  call 
money,  but  still  enough  for  a  grand  'operation  *  at  Hom- 
burg,  or  a  sheep-farming  exploit  in  Queensland." 

"You  're  more  'up  '  to  the  first  than  the  last." 

"All  wrong!  Games  of  chance  are  to  fellows  like  you, 
who  must  accept  Fortune  as  they  find  her.  Men  of  my 
stamp  mould  destiny." 


516  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

"Well,  I  don't  know.  So  long  as  I  have  known  you, 
you  've  never  been  out  of  one  scrape  without  being  half 
way  into  another." 

"  And  yet  there  are  fellows  who  pay  dearer  for  their  suc- 
cesses than  ever  I  have  done  for  my  failures." 

"  How  so  ?     What  do  they  do  ?  " 

"They  marry!  Ay,  Bob,  they  marry  rich  wives,  but 
without  any  power  to  touch  the  money,  just  as  a  child  gets 
a  sovereign  at  Christmas  under  the  condition  he  is  never  to 
change  it." 

"I  must  say  you  are  a  pleasant  fellow  to  travel  with." 

"So  I  am  generally  reputed,  and  you  're  a  lucky  dog  to 
catch  me  'in  the  vein,'  for  I  don't  know  when  I  was  in  better 
spirits  than  this  morning." 


CHAPTER  X. 

A   DAYBREAK   BESIDE   THE  RHIXB. 

The  day  was  just  breaking  over  that  wide  flat  beside  the 
Rhine  at  Basle,  as  two  men,  descending  from  a  carriage  on 
the  high  road,  took  one  of  the  narrow  paths  which  lead 
through  the  fields,  walking  slowly,  and  talking  to  each  other 
in  the  careless  tone  of  easy  converse* 

"  We  are  early,  Barnard,  I  should  say,  —  fully  half  an 
hour  before  our  time,"  said  Calvert,  as  he  walked  on  first, 
for  the  path  did  not  admit  of  two  abreast.  "What  grand 
things  these  great  plains  are,  traversed  by  a  fine  river,  and 
spreading  away  to  a  far  distant  horizon.  What  a  sense  of 
freedom  they  inspire;  how  suggestive  they  are  of  liberty! 
Don't  you  feel  that?" 

''I  think  I  see  them  coming,"  said  the  other.  "I  saw  a 
carriage  descend  the  hill  yonder.  Is  there  nothing  else  you 
have  to  say  —  nothing  that  you  think  of,  Harry?  " 

"Nothing.  If  it  should  be  a  question  of  a  funeral.  Bob, 
my  funds  will  show  how  economically  it  must  be  done ;  but 
even  if  I  had  been  richer,  it  is  not  an  occasion  I  should 
like  to  make  costly." 

"It  was  not  of  that  I  was  thinking.  It  was  of  friends 
or  relations." 

"My  dear  fellow,  I  have  few  relatives  and  no  friends. 
No  man's  executorship  will  ever  entail  less  trouble  than 
mine.     I  have  nothing  to  leave,  nor  any  to  leave  it  to." 

"  But  these  letters  —  the  cause  of  the  present  meeting  — 
don't  you  intend  that  in  case  of  —  in  the  event  of  —  '* 

"My  being  killed.     Go  on." 

"  That  they  should  be  given  up  to  your  cousin  ?  " 

"Nothing  of  the  kind  ever  occurred  to  me.  In  the  first 
place,  I  don't  mean  to  be  shot;  and  in  the  second,  I  have 


518  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

not  the  very  remotest  intention  of  releasing  the  dear  Sophy 
from  those  regrets  and  sorrows  which  she  ought  to  feel  for 
my  death.  Nay,  I  mean  her  to  mourn  me  with  a  degree  of 
affliction  to  which  anxiety  will  add  the  poignancy." 

*'This  is  not  generous,  Calvert." 

"I  'm  sure  it 's  not.  Why,  my  dear  friend,  were  I  to 
detect  any  such  weakness  in  my  character,  I  *d  begin  to 
fancy  I  might  end  by  becoming  a  poltroon." 

''Is  that  your  man,  —  he  in  the  cloak,  —  or  the  tall  one 
behind  him?  "  said  Barnard,  as  he  pointed  to  a  group  who 
came  slowly  along  through  a  vineyard. 

"I  cannot  say.  I  never  saw  Mr.  Graham,  to  my  knowl- 
edge. Don't  let  them  be  long  about  the  preliminaries, 
Bob ;  the  morning  is  fresh,  and  the  ground  here  somewhat 
damp.  Agree  to  all  they  ask,  —  distance  and  everything ; 
only  secure  that  the  word  be  given  by  you.  Remember 
that,   in  the  way  I've  told  you." 

As  Calvert  strolled  listlessly  along  towards  the  river, 
Barnard  advanced  to  meet  the  others,  who,  to  the  number 
of  five,  came  now  forward.  Colonel  Rochefort,  Mr.  Gra- 
ham's friend,  and  Barnard  were  slightly  acquainted,  and 
turned  aside  to  talk  to  each  other  in  confidence. 

"It  is  scarcely  the  moment  to  hope  for  it,  Mr.  Barnard," 
said  the  other,  "but  I  cannot  go  on  without  asking,  at 
least,  if  there  is  any  peaceful  settlement  possible?  " 

"I  fear  not.  You  told  me  last  night  that  all  retraction  by 
your  friend  of  his  offensive  letter  was  impossible." 

"Utterly  so." 

"What,  then,  would  you  suggest?  " 

"  Could  not  Mr.  Calvert  be  brought  to  see  that  it  was  he 
who  gave  the  first  offence?  That,  in  writing,  as  he  did,  to 
a  man  in  my  friend's  position  — " 

"Mere  waste  of  time,  colonel,  to  discuss  this;  besides, 
I  think  we  have  each  of  us  already  said  all  that  we  could  on 
this  question,  and  Calvert  is  very  far  from  being  satisfied 
with  me  for  having  allowed  myself  to  entertain  it.  There 
is  really  nothing  for  it  but  a  shot." 

"Yes,  sir;  but  you  seem  to  forget,  if  we  proceed  to  this 
arbitrament,  it  is  not  a  mere  exchange  of  fire  will  satisfy 
my  friend." 


A  DAYBREAK  BESIDE  THE   RHINE.  619 

"We  are,  as  regards  that,  completely  at  his  service; 
and  if  your  supply  of  ammunition  be  only  in  proportion  to 
the  number  of  your  followers,  you  can  scarcely  be  disap* 
pointed." 

The  colonel  reddened  deeply,  and  in  a  certain  irritation 
replied,  ''One  of  these  gentlemen  is  a  travelling  companion 
of  my  friend,  whose  health  is  too  delicate  to  permit  him  to 
act  for  him ;  the  other  is  a  French  officer  of  rank,  who  dined 
with  us  yesterday;  the  third  is  a  surgeon." 

"  To  us  it  is  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference  if  you  come 
accompanied  by  fifty,  or  five  hundred;  but  let  us  lose  no 
more  time.  I  see  how  I  am  trying  my  friend's  patience 
already.  Ten  paces,  short  paces,  too,"  began  Barnard  as 
he  took  his  friend's  arm. 

''And  the  word?" 

"I  am  to  give  it." 

"All  right;  and  you  remember  how?  " 

"  Yes !  the  word  is.  One  —  two ;  at  the  second  you  are  to 
fire." 

"Let  me  hear  you  say  them." 

"One— two." 

"No,  no;  that's  not  it.  One-two  —  sharp;  don't  dwell 
on  the  interval;  make  them  like  syllables  of  one  word." 

"One- two." 

"Yes,  that's  it;  and  remember  that  you  cough  once 
before  you  begin.  There,  don't  let  them  see  us  talking 
together.     Give  me  a  shake  hands,  and  leave  me." 

"That  man  is  nervous^  or  I  am  much  mistaken,"  said 
Graham's  invalid  friend  to  the  colonel;  and  they  both 
looked  towards  Calvert,  who,  with  his  hat  drawn  down  over 
his  brows,  walked  lazily  to  his  ground. 

"It  is  not  the  reputation  he  has,"  whispered  the  colonel. 
"Be  calm,  Graham;  be  as  cool  as  the  other  fellow." 

The  principals  were  now  placed,  and  the  others  fell  back 
on  either  side,  and  almost  instantaneously,  —  so  instanta- 
neously, indeed,  that  Colonel  Rochefort  had  not  yet  ceased 
to  walk,  two  shpts  rung  out,  one  distinctly  before  the  other, 
and  Graham  fell. 

All  ran  towards  him  but  Calvert,  who,  throwing  his  pistol 
at  his  feet,  stood  calm  and  erect.     For  a  few  seconds  they 


620  A  RENT  IN  A   CLOUD. 

bent  down  over  the  wounded  man,  and  then  Barnard,  has- 
tening back  to  his  friend,  whispered,  *' Through  the  chest; 
it  is  all  over." 

''Dead?"  said  the  other. 

He  nodded,  and,  taking  his  arm,  said,  *'  Don't  lose  a 
moment;  the  Frenchman  says  you  have  not  an  instant  to 
spare." 

For  a  moment  Calvert  moved  as  if  going  towards  the 
others  ;  then,  as  if  with  a  changed  purpose,  he  turned  sharply 
round  and  walked  towards  the  high  road. 

As  Calvert  was  just  about  to  gain  the  road,  Barnard  ran 
after  him,  and  cried  out,  '*  Stop,  Calvert,  hear  what  these 
men  say;  they  are  crying  out  unfair  against  us.  They 
declare  —  " 

''  Are  you  an  ass.  Bob?  "  said  the  other,  angrily.  "  Who 
minds  the  stupid  speech  of  fellows  whose  friend  is  knocked 
over  ? " 

*' Yes,  but  I'll  hear  this  out,"  cried  Barnard. 

''You'll  do  so  without  we,  then,  and  a  cursed  fool  you 
are  for  your  pains.  Drive  across  to  the  Bavarian  frontier, 
my  man,"  said  he,  giving  the  postilion  a  Napoleon,  "  and 
you  shall  have  a  couple  more  if  you  get  there  within  two 
hours." 

With  all  the  speed  that  whip  and  spur  could  summon, 
the  beasts  sped  along  the  level  road,  and  Calvert,  though 
occasionally  looking  through  the  small  pane  in  the  back  of 
the  carriage  to  assure  himself  he  was  not  pursued,  smoked 
on  unceasingly.  He  might  have  been  a  shade  graver  than 
his  wont,  and  preoccupied,  too;  for  he  took  no  notice  of 
the  objects  on  the  road,  nor  replied  to  the  speeches  of  the 
postilion,  who,  in  his  self-praise,  seemed  to  call  for  some 
expression  of  approval. 

"You  are  a  precious  fool.  Master  Barnard,  and  you 
have  paid  for  your  folly,  or  you  had  been  here  before 
this." 

Such  were  his  uttered  -thoughts,  but  it  cost  him  little 
regret  as  he  spoke  them. 

The  steamboat  that  left  Constance  for  Lindau  was  just 
getting  under  weigh  as  he  reached  the  lake,  and  he  imme- 
diately embarked  in  her,  and,  on  the  same  evening,  gained 


A  DAYBREAK  BESIDE  THE   RHINE.  521 

Austrian  territory  at  Bregenz,  to  pass  the  night.  For  a 
day  or  two,  the  quietness  of  this  lone  and  little-visited  spot 
suited  him,  and  it  was  near  enough  to  the  Swiss  frontier, 
at  the  Rhine,  to  get  news  from  Switzerland.  On  the  third 
day,  a  paragraph  in  the  "Basle  Zeitung  "  told  him  every- 
thing. It  was,  as  such  things  usually  are,  totally  misrepre- 
sented, but  there  was  enough  revealed  for  him  to  guess 
what  had  occurred.  It  was  headed  ''  Terrible  Event,"  and 
ran  thus :  — 

"At  a  meeting  which  took  place  with  pistols,  this  morning,  be- 
tween two  English  lords  at  the  White  Meadows,  one  fell  so  fatally 
wounded  that  his  death  ensued  in  a  few  minutes.  An  instantaneous 
cry  of  foul  play  amongst  his  friends  led  to  a  fierce  and  angry  alter- 
cation, which  ended  in  a  second  encounter  between  the  first  princi- 
pal and  the  second  of  the  deceased.  In  this  the  former  was  shot 
through  the  throat,  the  bullet  injuring  several  large  vessels,  and 
lodging,  it  is  supposed,  in  the  spine.  He  has  been  conveyed  to  the 
Hotel  Royal,  but  no  hopes  of  his  recovery  are  entertained." 

*'  I  suspected  what  would  come  of  your  discussion.  Bob. 
Had  you  only  been  minded  to  slip  away  with  me,  you  'd 
have  been  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  whole  skin  by  this  time. 
I  wonder  which  of  them  shot  him.  I  'd  take  the  odds  it 
was  the  Frenchman ;  he  handled  the  pistols  like  a  fellow 
-who  envied  us  our  pleasant  chances.  I  suppose  I  ought  to 
write  to  Barnard,  or  to  his  people ;  but  it 's  not  an  agreeable 
task,  and  I  '11  think  over  it." 

He  thought  over  it,  and  wrote  as  follows : 

Dear  Bob,  —  I  suspect,  from  a  very  confused  paragraph  in  a 
stupid  newspaper,  that  you  have  fought  somebody  and  got  wounded. 
Write  and  say  if  this  be  so,  what  it  was  all  about,  who  did  it,  and 
what  more  can  be  done  for  you, 

By  yours  truly, 

H.   C. 

Address,  Como. 

To  this  he  received  no  answer  when  he  called  at  the  post- 
office,  and  turned  his  steps  next  to  Orta.  He  did  not  really 
know  why,  but  it  was,  perhaps,  with  some  of  that  strange 


622  A  RENT  IN  A   CLOUD. 

instinct  that  makes  the  criminal  haunt  the  homes  of  those 
he  has  once  injured,  and  means  to  injure  more.  There  was, 
however,  one  motive  which  he  recognized  himself :  he  wished 
to  know  something  of  those  at  the  villa ;  when  they  had 
heard  from  Loyd,  and  what ;  whether,  too,  they  had  heard 
of  his  own  doings,  and  in  what  way  ?  A  fatal  duel,  followed 
by  another  that  was  like  to  prove  fatal,  was  an  event  sure 
to  provoke  newspaper  notice.  The  names  could  not  escape 
publicity,  and  he  was  eager  to  see  in  what  terms  they  men- 
tioned his  own.  He  trusted  much  to  the  difficulty  of  getting 
at  any  true  version  of  the  affair,  and  he  doubted  greatly  if 
any  one  but  Graham  and  himself  could  have  told  why  they 
were  to  meet  at  all.  Graham's  second,  Rochefort,  evidently 
knew  very  little  of  the  affair.  At  all  events,  Graham  was 
no  longer  there  to  give  his  version,  while  for  the  incidents 
of  the  duel,  who  was  to  speak?  All,  save  Barnard^  who 
was  dying,  if  not  dead,  must  have  taken  flight.  The  Swiss 
authorities  would  soon  have  arrested  them  if  withm  reach. 
He  might  therefore  reassure  himself  that  no  statement  that 
he  could  not  at  least  impugn  could  get  currency  just  yet. 
"  I  will  row  over  to  the  old  Grainger,"  —  so  he  called  her,  — 
"  and  see  what  she  has  heard  of  it  all." 

It  was  nightfall  as  he  reached  the  shore,  and  walked 
slowly  and  anxiously  to  the  house.  He  had  learned  at  Orta 
that  they  were  to  leave  that  part  of  the  world  in  another 
fortnight,  but  whither  for  none  knew.  As  he  drew  nigh, 
he  determined  to  have  a  peep  at  the  interior  before  he  pre- 
sented himself.  He  accordingly  opened  the  little  wicket 
noiselessly,  and  passed  round  through  the  flower-garden  till 
he  reached  the  windows  of  the  drawing-room. 


CHAPTER  XT. 

THE   LIFE    AT    THE    VILLA. 

The  curtains  were  undrawn,  and  the  candles  were  lighted. 
All  within  looked  just  as  he  had  so  often  seen  it.  The  sick 
girl  lay  on  her  sofa,  with  her  small  spaniel  at  her  feet. 
Miss  Grainger  was  working  at  a  table,  and  Milly  sat  near 
her  sister,  bending  over  the  end  of  the  sofa,  and  talking 
to  her.  ''  Let  me  see  that  letter  again,  Florr^',"  she  said, 
taking  a  letter  from  the  passive  fingers  of  the  sick  girl. 
"  Yes,  he  is  sure  it  must  have  been  Calvert.  He  says 
that  though  the  Swiss  papers  give  the  name  Colnart,  he  is 
sure  it  was  Calvert ;  and  you  remember  his  last  words  here 
as  he  went  away  that  evening?" 

''  Poor  fellow!  "  said  Florence.  ''  I  am  sure  I  have  no 
right  to  bear  him  good  will,  but  I  am  sorry  for  him,  —  really 
sorry.     I  suppose,  by  this  time,  it  is  all  over?  " 

"  The  wound  was  through  the  throat,  it  is  said,"  said 
Miss  Grainger.  "  But  how  confused  the  whole  story  is. 
Who  is  Barnard,  and  why  did  Calvert  fight  to  save  Bar- 
nard's honor  ?  " 

"  No,  aunt.  It  was  to  rescue  Mr.  Graham's,  the  man 
who  was  about  to  marry  Sophia  Calvert." 

"Not  at  all,  Milly.  It  was  Graham  who  shot  Barnard; 
and  then  poor  Calvert,  horrified  at  his  friend's  fate  — ^ " 

Calvert  never  waited  for  more.  He  saw  that  there  was 
that  amount  of  mistake  and  misunderstanding  which  re- 
quired no  aid  on  his  part,  and  now  nothing  remained  but 
to  present  himself  suddenly  before  them  as  a  fugitive  from 
justice  seeking  shelter  and  protection.  The  rest  he  was 
content  to  leave  to  hazard. 

A  sharp  ring  at  the  door-bell  was  scarcely  answered  by 


524  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

the  sen^ant,  when  the  man  came  to  the  drawing-room  door, 
and  made  a  sign  to  Miss  Grainger. 

"What   is   it,    Giacomo?     What  do  you  mean?"    she 
cried. 

"Just  one  moment,  Signora;  half  a  minute  here,"  he 
said. 

Well  accustomed  to  the  tone  of  secrecy  assumed  by 
Italians  on  occasions  the  least  important.  Miss  Grainger 
followed  him  outside,  and  there,  under  the  glare  of  the 
hall-lamp,  stood  Calvert,  pale,  his  hair  disshevelled,  his 
cravat  loosened,  and  his  coat-sleeve  torn.  "  Save  me!  hide 
me!"  said  he,  in  a  low  whisper.  "Can  you  —  will  you 
save  me?  " 

She  was  one  not  unfitted  to  meet  a  sudden  change ;  and, 
although  secretly  shocked,  she  rallied  quickly,  and  led  him 
into  a  room  beside  the  hall.  "I  know  all,"  said  she.  "  We 
all  knew  it  was  your  name." 

"Can  you  conceal  me  here  for  a  day, — two  days  at 
furthest?" 

"  A  week,  if  you  need  it." 

"And  the  servant,  —  can  he  be  trusted?" 

"  To  the  death.     I  '11  answer  for  him." 

' '  How  can  you  keep  the  secret  from  the  girls  ?  " 

"  I  need  not;  they  must  know  everything." 

"  But  Florence ;  can  she  —  has  she  forgiven  me? " 

"  Yes,  thoroughly.  She  scarcely  knows  about  what  she 
quarrelled  with  you.  She  sometimes  fears  that  she  wronged 
you;  and  Milly  defends  you  always." 

"You  have  heard — you  know  what  has  happened  to 
me?" 

"  In  a  fashion,  — that  is,  we  only  know  there  has  been  a 
duel.  We  feared  you  had  been  wounded ;  and,  indeed,  we 
heard  severely  wounded." 

"The  story  is  too  long  to  tell  you  now;  enough,  if  I  say 
it  was  all  about  Sophy.  You  remember  Sophy,  and  a  fellow 
who  was  to  have  married  her,  and  who  jilted  her,  and  not 
only  this,  but  boasted  of  the  injury  he  had  done  her,  and  the 
insult  he  had  thrown  on  us.  A  friend  of  mine,  Barnard,  a 
brother  officer,  heard  him  —  But  why  go  on  with  this  detail  ? 
There  was  a  quarrel  and  a  challenge,  and  it  was  by  merest 


THE  LIFE  AT  THE  VILLA.  525 

accident  I  heard  of  it,  and  reached  Basle  in  time.  Of  course, 
I  was  not  going  to  leave  to  Barnard  what  of  right  belonged 
to  me.  There  were,  as  you  can  imagine,  innumerable  com- 
plications in  the  matter.  Rochefort,  the  other  man's  friend, 
and  a  French  fellow,  insisted  on  having  a  finger  in  the  pie. 
The  end  of  it  was,  I  shot  Graham,  and  somebody  else  —  I 
believe  Rochefort  —  put  a  bullet  into  Barnard.  The  Swiss 
laws  in  some  cantons  are  severe,  and  we  only  learned  too 
late  that  we  had  fought  in  the  very  worst  of  them ;  so  I  ran, 
I  don't  know  how,  or  in  what  direction.  I  lost  my  head  for 
a  while,  and  wandered  about  the  Vorarlberg  and  the  Splugen 
for  a  week  or  two.  How  I  find  myself  now  here  is  quite  a 
mystery  to  me." 

There  was  a  haggard  wildness  in  his  look  that  fully 
accorded  with  all  he  said,  and  the  old  lady  felt  the  most 
honest  pity  for  his  sufferings. 

"  I  don't  know  if  I  'm  perfectly  safe  here,"  said  he,  look- 
ing fearfully  around  him.  ''  Are  you  sure  you  can  conceal 
me,  if  need  be  ?  " 

''  Quite  sure ;  have  no  fear  about  that.  I  '11  tell  the  girls 
that  your  safety  requires  the  greatest  caution  and  secrecy, 
and  you  '11  see  how  careful  they  will  be." 

"  Girls  will  talk,  though,"  said  he,  doubtingly. 

"  There  is  the  double  security  here,  —  they  have  no  one  to 
talk  to,"  she  said,  with  a  faint  smile. 

''Very  true.  I  was  forgetting  how  retired  your  life  was 
here.  Now  for  the  next  point.  What  are  you  to  tell  them, 
—  I  mean,  how  much  are  they  to  know?' 

The  old  lady  looked  puzzled ;  she  felt  she  might  easily 
have  replied,  "If  they  only  know  no  more  than  I  can  tell 
them,  your  secret  will  certainly  be  safe ;  "  but,  as  she  looked 
at  his  haggard  cheek  and  feverish  eye,  she  shrunk  from 
renewing  a  theme  full  of  distress  and  suffering.  "  Leave  it 
to  me  to  say  something,  —  anything  which  shall  show  them 
that  you  are  in  a  serious  trouble,  and  require  all  their  secrecy 
and  sympathy." 

*'  Yes,  that  may  do,  —  at  least  for  the  present.  It  will  do 
at  least  with  Milly,  who  bears  me  no  ill-will." 

''  You  wrong  Florence  if  you  imagine  that  she  does.  It 
was  only  the  other  day,  when,  in  a  letter  from  Loyd,  she 


526  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

read  that  you  had  left  the  army,  she  said  how  sorry  she  was 
you  had  quitted  the  career  so  suited  to  your  abilities." 

"  Indeed !     I  scarce  hoped  for  so  much  of  interest  in  me." 

"  Oh,  she  talks  continually  about  you;  and  always  as  of 
one  who  only  needs  the  guidance  of  some  true  friend  to  be  a 
man  of  mark  and  distinction  yet." 

"  It  is  very  good,  very  kind  of  her,"  he  said ;  and,  for  an 
instant,  seemed  lost  in  thought. 

''I'll  go  back  now,"  said  Miss  Grainger,  "and  prepare 
them  for  your  coming.  They  '11  wonder  what  has  detained 
me  all  this  while.     Wait  one  moment  for  me  here." 

Calvert,  apparently,  was  too  much  engaged  with  his  own 
thoughts  to  hear  her,  and  suffered  her  to  go  without  a  word. 
She  was  quickly  back  again,  and,  beckoning  him  to  follow 
her,  led  the  way  to  the  drawing-room. 

Scarcely  had  Calvert  passed  the  doorway,  when  the  two 
girls  met  him,  and,  each  taking  a  hand,  conducted  him  with- 
out a  word  to  a  sofa.  Indeed,  his  sickly  look,  and  the  air  of 
downright  misery  in  his  countenance,  called  for  all  their 
sympathy  and  kindness. 

"I  have  scarcely  strength  to  thank  you!"  he  said  to 
them,  in  a  faint  voice.  Though  the  words  were  addressed 
to  both,  the  glance  he  gave  towards  Florence  sent  the  blood 
to  her  pale  cheeks,  and  made  her  turn  away  in  some 
confusion. 

"  You'll  have  some  tea  and  rest  yourself,  and  when  you 
feel  once  quiet  and  undisturbed  here,  you  '11  soon  regain 
your  strength,"  said  Milly,  as  she  turned  towards  the  tea- 
table,  while  Florence,  after  a  few  moments'  hesitation,  seated 
herself  on  the  sofa  beside  him. 

' '  Has  she  told  you  what  has  befallen  me  ?  "  whispered  he 
to  her. 

"In  part, — that  is,  something  of  it;  as  much  as  she 
could  in  a  word  or  two.     But  do  not  speak  of  it  now." 

"  If  I  do  not  now,  Florence,  I  can  never  have  the  courage 
again." 

"  Then  be  it  so,"  she  said  eagerly.  "  I  am  more  anxious 
to  see  you  strong  and  well  again  than  to  hear  how  you 
became  wretched  and  unhappy." 

*'  But  if  you  do  not  hear  the  story  from  myself,  Florence, 


THE   LIFE  AT  THE   VILLA.  627 

and  if  you  should  hear  the  tale  that  others  may  tell  of  me  — 
if  you  never  know  how  1  have  been  tried  and  tempted  —  " 

"  There,  there,  — don't  agitate  yourself,  or  I  must  leave 
you;  and,  see,  Milly  is  remarking  our  whispering  together." 

*'  Does  she  grudge  me  this  much  of  your  kindness?  " 

*'No;  but  —  there  —  here  she  comes  with  your  tea." 
She  drew  a  little  table  in  front  of  him,  and  tried  to  per- 
suade him  to  eat. 

"  Your  sister  has  just  made  me  a  very  generous  promise, 
Milly,"  said  he.  ''  She  has  pledged  herself  —  even  without 
hearing  my  exculpation  —  to  believe  me  innocent;  and  al- 
though I  have  told  her  that  the  charges  that  others  will  make 
against  me  may  need  some  refutation  on  my  part,  she  says 
she  '11  not  listen  to  them.  Is  not  that  very  noble,  —  is  it  not 
truly  generous?  " 

*'  It  is  what  I  should  expect  from  Florence." 

''And  what  of  Florence's  sister?"  said  he,  with  a  half 
furtive  glance  towards  her. 

"  I  hope,  nothing  less  generous." 

"  Then  I  am  content,"  said  he,  with  a  faint  sigh. 
"When  a  man  is  as  thoroughly  ruined  as  I  am,  it  might 
be  thought  he  would  be  indifferent  to  opinion  in  every 
shape,  —  and  so  I  am  beyond  the  four  walls  of  this  room. 
But  here,"  and  he  looked  at  each  in  turn,  "  are  the  arbiters 
of  my  fate ;  if  you  will  but  be  to  me  dear  sisters,  —  kind, 
compassionate,  forgiving  sisters,  —  you  will  do  more  for  this 
crushed  and  wounded  heart  than  all  the  sympathy  of  the 
whole  world  beside." 

"  We  only  ask  to  be  such  to  you,"  cried  Florence, 
eagerly;  "and  we  feel  how  proud  we  could  be  of  such  a 
brother.  But,  above  all,  do  not  distress  yourself  now  by  a 
theme  so  painful  to  touch  on.  Let  the  unhappy  events  of 
the  last  few  weeks  lie,  if  not  forgotten,  at  least  unmentioned 
till  you  are  calm  and  quiet  enough  to  talk  of  them  as  old 
memories." 

"Yes;  but  how  can  I  bear  the  thought  of  what  others 
may  say  of  me  —  meanwhile?" 

"  Who  are  these  others?  We  see  no  one,  we  go  into  no 
society." 

"  Have  you  not  scores  of  dear  friends,  writing  by  every 


628  A  RENT  IN  A   CLOUD. 

post  to  ask  if  this  atrocious  duellist  be  '  your '  Mr.  Calvert, 
and  giving  such  a  narrative,  besides,  of  his  doings  that  a 
galley-slave  would  shrink  from  contact  with  such  a  man? 
Do  1  not  know  well  how  tenderly  people  deal  with  the  vices 
that  are  not  their  own?  How  severe  the  miser  can  be  on 
the  spendthrift,  and  how  mercilessly  the  coward  condemns 
the  hot  blood  that  resents  an  injury,  and  how  gladly  they 
would  involve  in  shame  the  character  that  would  not  brook 
dishonor?" 

"Believe  me,  we  have  very  few  'dear  friends'  at  all," 
said  Florence,  smiling,  "and  not  one,  no,  not  a  single  one 
of  the  stamp  you  speak  of." 

"  If  you  were  only  to  read  our  humdrum  letters,"  chimed 
in  Milly,  "  you'd  see  how  they  never  treat  of  anything  but 
little  domestic  details  of  people  who  live  as  obscurely  as 
ourselves.  How  Uncle  Tom's  boy  has  got  into  the  Charter- 
house ;  or  Mary's  baby  taken  the  chicken-pox." 

"  But  Loyd  writes  to  you,  —  and  not  in  this  strain?  " 

' '  I  suspect  Joseph  cares  little  to  fill  his  pages  with  what 
is  called  news,"  said  Milly,  with  a  laughing  glance  at  her 
sister,  who  had  turned  away  her  head  in  some  confusion. 

"  Nor  would  he  be  one  likely  to  judge  you  harshly,"  said 
Florence,  recovering  herself.  "  I  believe  you  have  few 
friends  who  rate  you  more  highly  than  he  does." 

"It  is  very  generous  of  him!"  said  Calvert,  haughtily; 
and  then,  catching  in  the  proud  glance  of  Florry's  eyes  a 
daring  challenge  of  his  words,  he  added,  in  a  quieter  tone, 
"  I  mean,  it  is  generous  of  him  to  overlook  how  unjust  I 
have  been  to  him.  It  is  not  easy  for  men  so  different 
to  measure  each  other,  and  I  certainly  formed  an  unfair 
estimate  of  him." 

"  Oh !  may  I  tell  him  that  you  said  so !  "  cried  she,  taking 
his  hand  with  warmth. 

"  I  mean  to  do  it  for  myself,  dearest  sister.  It  is  a  debt 
I  cannot  permit  another  to  acquit  for  me." 

"  Don't  you  think  you  are  forgetting  our  guest's  late 
fatigues,  and  what  need  he  has  of  rest  and  quietness, 
girls  ? "  said  Miss  Grainger,  coming  over  to  where  they 
sat. 

"I  was   forgetting   everything  in  my  joy,   aunt,"  cried 


THE  LIFE  AT  THE   VILLA.  629 

Florence.  "He  is  going  to  write  to  Joseph  like  a  dear, 
dear  brother  as  he  is,  and  we  shall  all  be  so  happy,  and 
so  united." 

"A  brother?  Mr.  Calvert  a  brother?"  said  the  old 
lady,  in  consternation  at  such  a  liberty  with  one  of  that 
mighty  house,  in  which  she  had  once  lived  as  an  humble 
dependant. 

"Yes,"  cried  he.  "It  is  a  favor  I  have  begged,  and 
they  have  not  denied  me." 

The  old  lady's  face  flushed,  and  pride  and  shame  glowed 
together  on  her  cheeks. 

"So  we  must  say  good-night,"  said  Calvert,  rising; 
"  but  we  shall  have  a  long  day's  talk  together,  to-morrow. 
Who  is  it  that  defines  an  aunt  as  a  creature  that  always 
sends  one  to  bed?"  whispered  he  to  Florence. 

"What  made  you  laugh,  dear?"  said  her  sister,  after 
Calvert  had  left  the  room. 

"  I  forget  —  I  didn't  know  I  laughed  —  he  is  a  strange, 
incomprehensible  fellow.  Sometimes  I  like  him  greatly, 
and  sometimes  I  feel  a  sort  of  dread  of  him  that  amounts 
to  terror." 

"  If  I  were  Joseph,  I  should  not  be  quite  unconcerned 
about  that  jumbled  estimation." 

"  He  has  no  need  to  be.  They  are  unlike  in  every  way," 
said  she,  gravely ;  and  then,  taking  up  her  book,  went  on, 
or  affected  to  go  on,  reading. 

"  I  wish  Aunt  Grainger  would  not  make  so  much  of  him. 
It  is  a  sort  of  adulation  that  makes  our  position  regarding 
him  perfectly  false,"  said  Milly.  "  Don't  you  think  so, 
dear?  " 

Florence,  however,  made  no  reply,  and  no  more  passed 
that  evening  between  them. 

Few  of  us  have  not  had  occasion  to  remark  the  wondrous 
change  produced  in  some  quiet  household,  where  the  work 
of  domesticity  goes  on  in  routine  fashion,  by  the  presence 
of  an  agreeable  and  accomplished  guest.  It  is  not  alone 
that  he  contributes  by  qualities  of  his  own  to  the  common 
stock  of  amusement,  but  that  he  excites  those  around  him 
to  efforts  which  develop  resources  they  had  not,  perhaps, 
felt  conscious  of  possessing.    The  necessity,  too,  of  wearing 

34 


530  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

one's  company  face,  which  the  presence  of  a  stranger  exacts, 
has  more  advantages  than  many  wot  of.  The  small  details 
whose  discussion  forms  the  staple  of  daily  talk  —  the  little 
household  cares  and  worries  —  have  to  be  shelved.  One 
can  scarcely  entertain  their  friends  with  stories  of  the  cook's 
impertinence,  or  the  coachman's  neglect,  and  one  has  to  see, 
as  they  do  see,  that  the  restraint  of  a  guest  does  not  in 
reality  affect  the  discipline  of  a  household,  though  it  suppress 
the  debates  and  arrest  the  discussion. 

It  has  been  often  remarked  that  the  custom  of  appearing 
in  Parliament  —  as  it  was  once  observed  —  in  court-dress, 
imposed  a  degree  of  courtesy  and  deference  in  debate,  of 
which  men  in  wide-awake  hats  and  paletots  are  not  always 
observant;  and,  unquestionably,  in  the  little  ceremonial 
observances  imposed  by  the  stranger's  presence,  may  be 
seen  the  social  benefits  of  a  good-breeding  not  marred  by 
over-familiarity.  It  was  thus  Calvert  made  his  presence 
felt  at  the  villa.  It  was  true  he  had  many  companionable 
qualities,  and  he  had,  or  at  least  affected  to  have,  very  wide 
sympathies.  He  was  ever  ready  to  read  aloud,  to  row,  to 
walk,  to  work  in  the  flower-garden,  to  sketch,  or  to  copy 
music,  as  though  each  was  an  especial  pleasure  to  him.  If 
he  was  not  as  high  spirited  and  light  hearted  as  they  once 
had  seen  him,  it  did  not  detract  from,  but  rather  added  to 
the  interest  he  excited.  He  was  in  misfortune,  —  a  calamity 
not  the  less  to  be  compassionated  that  none  could  accurately 
define  it ;  some  dreadful  event  had  occurred,  some  terrible 
consequence  impended,  and  each  felt  the  necessity  of  light- 
ening the  load  of  his  sorrow,  and  helping  him  to  bear  his 
aflfliction.  They  were  so  glad  when  they  could  cheer  him 
up,  and  so  happy  when  they  saw  him  take  even  a  passing 
pleasure  in  the  pursuits  their  own  days  were  spent  in. 

They  had  now  been  long  enough  in  Italy  not  to  feel  de- 
pressed by  its  dreamy  and  monotonous  quietude,  but  to  feel 
the  inexpressible  charm  of  that  soft  existence,  begotten  of 
air,  and  climate,  and  scenery.  They  had  arrived  at  that 
stage  —  and  it  is  a  stage  —  in  which  the  olive  is  not  dusky, 
nor  the  mountain  arid :  when  the  dry  course  of  the  torrent 
suggests  no  wish  for  water.  Life  —  mere  life  —  has  a  sense 
of  luxury  about  it,  unfelt  in  Northern  lands.     With  an  eager 


THE  LIFE  AT  THE  VILLA.  631 

joy,  therefore,  did  they  perceive  that  Calvert  seemed  to  have 
arrived  at  the  same  sentiment,  and  the  same  appreciation  as 
themselves.  He  seemed  to  ask  for  nothing  better  than  to 
stroll  through  orange-groves,  or  lie  under  some  spreading 
fig-tree,  drowsily  soothed  by  the  song  of  the  vine-dresser, 
or  the  unwearied  chirp  of  the  cicala.  How  much  of  good 
there  must  be  surely  in  a  nature  pleased  with  such  tranquil 
simple  pleasures !  thought  they.  See  how  he  likes  to  watch 
the  children  at  their  play,  and  with  what  courtesy  he  talked 
to  that  old  priest.  It  is  clear,  dissipation  may  have  damaged 
but  has  not  destroyed  that  fine  temperament ;  his  heart  has 
not  lost  its  power  to  feel.  It  was  thus  that  each  thought  of 
him,  though  there  was  less  of  confidence  between  the  sisters 
than  heretofore. 

A  very  few  words  will  suflSce  to  explain  this :  When 
Florence  recovered  from  the  shock  Calvert  had  occasioned 
her  on  the  memorable  night  of  his  visit,  she  had  nothing 
but  the  very  vaguest  recollection  of  what  had  occurred. 
That  some  terrible  tidings  had  been  told  her,  some  disas- 
trous news  in  which  Loyd  '  and  Calvert  were  mixed  up ; 
that  she  had  blamed  Calvert  for  rashness  or  indiscretion; 
that  he  had  either  shown  a  letter  he  ought  never  to  have 
shown,  or  not  produced  one  which  might  have  averted  a 
misfortune ;  and,  last  of  all,  that  she  herself  had  done  or 
said  something  which  a  calmer  judgment  could  not  justify, 
—  all  these  were  in  some  vague  and  shadowy  shape  before 
her,  and  all  rendered  her  anxious  and  uneasy.  On  the  other 
hand,  Milly,  seeing  with  some  satisfaction  that  her  sister 
never  recurred  to  the  events  of  that  unhappy  night,  gladly 
availed  herself  of  this  silence  to  let  them  sleep  undisturbed. 
She  was  greatly  shocked,  it  is  true,  by  the  picture  Calvert's 
representation  presented  of  Loyd.  He  had  never  bee^  a 
great  favorite  of  her  own ;  she  recognized  many  good  and 
amiable  traits  in  his  nature,  but  she  deemed  him  gloomy, 
depressed,  and  a  dreamer,  —  and  a  dreamer,  above  all,  she 
regarded  as  unfit  to  be  the  husband  of  Florence,  whose  ill 
health  had  only  tended  to  exaggerate  a  painful  and  imagina- 
tive disposition.  She  saw,  or  fancied  she  saw,  that  Loyd's 
temperament,  calm  and  gentle  though  it  was,  seemed  to 
depress  her  sister.     His  views  of  life  were  very  sombre,  and 


532  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

no  effort  ever  enabled  him  to  look  forward  in  a  sanguine  or 
hopeful  spirit.  If,  however,  to  these  feelings  an  absolute 
fault  of  character  were  to  be  added,  —  the  want  of  personal 
courage,  —  her  feelings  for  him  could  no  longer  be  even  the 
qualified  esteem  she  had  hitherto  experienced.  She  also 
knew  that  nothing  could  be  such  a  shock  to  Florence  as  to 
believe  that  the  man  she  loved  was  a  coward ;  nor  could  any 
station,  or  charm,  or  ability,  however  great,  compensate  for 
such  a  defect.  As  a  matter,  therefore,  for  grave  after 
thought,  but  not  thoroughly  ''proven,"  she  retained  this 
charge  in  her  mind,  nor  did  she  by  any  accident  drop  a  hint 
or  a  word  that  could  revive  the  memory  of  that  evening. 

As  for  Miss  Grainger,  only  too  happy  to  see  that  Florence 
seemed  to  retain  no  trace  of  that  distressing  scene,  she 
never  went  back  to  it,  and  thus  every  event  of  the  night  was 
consigned  to  silence,  if  not  oblivion.  Still,  there  grew  out 
of  that  reserve  a  degree  of  estrangement  between  the  sisters, 
which  each,  unconscious  of  in  herself,  could  detect  in  the 
other.  "  I  think  Milly  has  grown  colder  to  me  of  late, 
aunt.  She  is  not  less  kind  or  attentive,  but  there  is  a  some- 
thing of  constraint  about  her  I  cannot  fathom,"  would 
Florence  say  to  her  aunt.  While  the  other  whispered,  "I 
wonder  why  Florry  is  so  silent  when  we  are  alone  together? 
She  that  used  to  tell  me  all  her  thoughts,  and  speak  for 
hours  of  what  she  hoped  and  wished,  now  only  alludes  to 
some  commonplace  topic,  —  the  book  she  has  just  read, 
or  the  walk  we  took  yesterday." 

The  distance  between  them  was  not  the  less  wide  that  each 
had  secretly  confided  to  Calvert  her  misgivings  about  the 
other.  Indeed,  it  would  have  been,  for  girls  so  young  and 
inexperienced  in  life,  strange  not  to  have  accorded  him  their 
confidence.  He  possessed  a  large  share  of  that  quality 
which  very  young  people  regard  as  sagacity.  I  am  not  sure 
that  the  gift  has  got  a  special  name,  but  we  have  all  of  us 
heard  of  some  one  "  with  such  a  good  head,"  "  so  safe  an 
adviser,"  "  such  a  rare  counsellor  in  a  difficulty,"  "  knowing 
life  and  mankind  so  well,"  and  "  such  an  aptitude  to  take 
the  right  road  in  a  moment  of  embarrassment."  The  phoenix 
is  not  usually  a  man  of  bright  or  showy  qualities ;  he  is,  on 
the  contrary,  one  that  the  world  at  large  has  failed  to  recog- 


THE  LIFE  AT  THE  VILLA.  533 

nize.  If,  however,  by  any  chance  he  should  prove  to  be 
smart,  ready-witted,  and  a  successful  talker,  his  sway  is  a 
perfect  despotism.  Such  was  Calvert ;  at  least  such  was  he 
to  the  eyes  of  these  sisters.  Now  Milly  had  confided  to 
him  that  she  thought  Loyd  totally  unworthy  of  Florence. 
His  good  qualities  were  undeniable,  but  he  had  few  attrac- 
tive or  graceful  ones ;  and  then  there  was  a  despondent, 
depressed  tone  about  him  that  must  prove  deeply  injurious 
to  one  whose  nature  required  bright  and  cheery  companion- 
ship.    Calvert  agreed  with  every  word  of  this. 

Florence,  on  her  side,  was  meanwhile,  imparting  to  him 
that  Loyd  was  not  fairly  appreciated  by  her  aunt  or  her 
sister.  They  deemed  him  very  honorable,  very  truthful,  and 
very  moral,  but  they  did  not  think  highly  of  his  abilities, 
nor  reckon  much  on  his  success  in  life.  In  fact,  though  the 
words  themselves  were  spared  her,  they  told  her  in  a  hundred 
modes  that  "  she  was  throwing  herself  away ;  "  and,  strange 
as  it  may  read,  she  liked  to  be  told  so,  and  heard  with  a  sort 
of  triumphant  pride  that  she  was  going  to  make  a  sacrifice  of 
herself  and  all  her  prospects,  — all  for  "  poor  Joseph."  To 
become  the  auditor  of  this  reckoning  required  more  adroit- 
ness than  the  other  case ;  but  Calvert  was  equal  to  it.  He 
saw  where  to  differ,  where  to  agree  with  her.  It  was  a  con- 
tingency which  admitted  of  a  very  dexterous  flattery,  rather 
insinuated,  however,  than  openly  declared ;  and  it  was  thus 
lie  conveyed  to  her  that  he  took  the  same^  view  as  the  others. 
He  knew  Loyd  was  an  excellent  fellow,  far  too  good  and  too 
moral  for  a  mere  scamp  like  himself  to  estimate.  He  was 
certain  he  would  turn  out  respectable,  esteemed,  and  all  that. 
He  would  be  sure  to  be  a  churchwarden,  and  might  be  a 
poor-law  guardian  ;  and  his  wife  would  be  certain  to  shine  in 
the  same  brightness  attained  by  him.  Then  stopping,  he 
would  heave  a  low  faint  sigh,  and  turn  the  conversation  to 
something  about  her  own  attractions  or  graceful  gifts:  how 
enthusiastically  the  world  of  "  society"  would  one  day  wel- 
come them,  and  what  a  "success"  awaited  her  whenever 
she  was  well  enough  to  endure  its  fatigue.  Now,  though  all 
these  were  only  as  so  many  fagots  to  the  pile  of  her  martyr- 
dom, she  delighted  to  listen  to  them,  and  never  wearied  of 
hearing  Calvert  exalt  all  the  greatness  of  the  sacrifice  she 


534  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

was  about  to  make;  and  how  immeasurably  she  was  above 
the  lot  to  which  she  was  going  to  consign  herself. 

It  is  the  drip,  drip,  that  eats  away  the  rock,  and  itera- 
tion, ever  so  faint,  will  cleave  its  way  at  last;  so  Florry, 
without  in  the  slightest  degree  disparaging  Loyd,  grew  at 
length  to  believe,  as  Calvert  assured  her,  that  "  Master 
Joseph "  was  the  luckiest  dog  that  ever  lived,  and  had 
carried  off  a  prize  immeasurably  above  his  pretensions. 

Miss  Grainger,  too,  found  a  confessor  in  their  guest ;  but 
it  will  spare  the  reader  some  time  if  I  place  before  him  a 
letter  which  Calvert  wrote  to  one  of  his  most  intimate  friends 
a  short  time  after  he  had  taken  up  his  abode  at  the  villa. 
The  letter  will  also  serve  to  connect  some  past  events  with 
the  present  now  before  us. 

The  epistle  was  addressed,  Algernon  Drayton,  Esq.,  Army 
and  Navy  Club,  London,  and  ran  thus :  — 

My  dear  Algy, — You  are  the  prince  of  "our  own  correspon- 
dents," and  I  thank  you,  "  imo  corde,'^  if  that  be  Latin  for  it,  for  all 
you  have  done  for  me.  I  defy  the  whole  Bar  to  make  out,  from 
your  narrative,  who  killed  who,  in  that  affair  at  Basle.  I  know, 
after  the  third  reading  of  it,  I  fancied  that  I  had  been  shot  through 
the  heart,  and  then  took  post-horses  for  Zurich.  It  was  and  is  a 
masterpiece  of  the  bewildering  imbroglio  style.  Cultivate  your 
great  gifts,  then,  my  friend.  You  will  be  a  treasure  to  the  court 
of  Cresswell,  and  the  most  injured  of  men  or  the  basest  of  seducers 
will  not  be  able  at  the  end  of  a  suit  to  say  which  must  kneel  down 
and  ask  pardon  of  the  other.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  say  I  'm  sorry 
for  Barnard,  but  I  can't.  No,  Algy,  I  cannot.  He  was  an  arrant 
snob,  and,  if  he  had  lived,  he  'd  have  gone  about  telling  the  most 
absurd  stories  and  getting  people  to  believe  them,  just  on  the  faith 
of  his  stupidity.  If  there  is  a  ridiculous  charge  in  the  world,  it  is 
that  of  "  firing  before  one's  time,"  which,  to  make  the  most  of  it, 
must  be  a  matter  of  seconds,  and  involves,  besides,  a  question  as  to 
the  higher  inflammability  of  one's  powder.  I  don't  care  who  made 
ir.ine,  but  I  know  it  did  its  work  well.  I'm  glad,  however,  that 
yo'i  did  not  dei^n  to  notice  that  contemptible  allegation,  and  merely 
limited  yourself  to  what  resulted.  Your  initials  and  the  stars 
showered  over  the  paragraph  are  in  the  highest  walk  of  legerdemain, 
and  I  can  no  more  trace  relatives  to  antecedents  than  I  can  tell 
what  has  become  of  the  egg  I  saw  Houdin  smash  in  my  hat. 

I  know,  however,  I  must  n't  come  back  just  yet.  There  is  that 
shake  of- the-headiness  abroad  that  makes  one  uncomfortable.     Fortu- 


THE  LIFE   AT  THE  VILLA.  635 

nately,  this  is  no  sacrifice  to  me.  My  debts  keep  me  out  of  London, 
just  as  effectually  as  my  morals.  Besides  this,  my  dear  Algy,  I  'm 
living  in  the  very  deepest  of  clover,  domesticated  with  a  maiden  aunt 
and  two  lovely  nieces,  in  a  villa  on  an  Italian  lake,  my  life  and 
comforts  being  the  especial  care  of  the  triad.  Imagine  an  infant- 
school  occupied  in  the  care  of  a  young  tiger  of  the  spotted  species, 
and  you  may,  as  the  Yankees  say,  realize  the  situation.  But  they 
seem  to  enjoy  the  peril  of  what  they  are  doing,  or  they  don't  see  it, 
I  can't  tell  which. 

"  Gazetted  out,"  you  say ;  "  Meno  male,'"  as  they  say  here.  I  might 
have  been  promoted,  and  so  tempted  to  go  back  to  that  land  of 
bores,  bearers,  and  bungalows,  and  I  am  grateful  to  the  stumble  that 
saves  me  from  a  fall.  But  you  ask  what  do  I  mean  to  do  ?  and  I 
own  I  do  not  see  my  way  to  anything.  Time  was  when  gentleman- 
riding,  coach-driving,  or  billiards,  were  on  a  par  with  the  learned 
professions ;  but,  my  dear  Drayton,  we  have  fallen  upon  a  painfully 
enlightened  age,  and  every  fellow  can  do  a  little  of  everything. 

You  talk  of  my  friends  ?  You  might  as  well  talk  of  my  three- 
per-cents.  If  I  had  friends,  it  would  be  natural  enough  they  should 
help  me  to  emigrate,  as  a  means  of  seeing  the  last  of  me  ;  but  I 
rather  suspect  that  my  relatives,  who  by  a  figure  of  speech  represent 
the  friends  aforesaid,  have  a  lively  faith  that  some  day  or  other  the 
government  will  be  at  the  expense  of  my  passage,  —  that  it  would 
be  quite  superfluous  in  them  to  provide  for  it. 

You  hint  that  I  might  marry,  meaning  thereby  marry  with 
money  ;  and  to  be  sure,  there  's  Barnard's  widow  with  plenty  of  tin, 
and  exactly  in  that  stage  of  affliction  that  solicits  consolation ;  for 
when  the  heart  is  open  to  sorrow,  love  occasionally  steps  in  before 
the  door  closes.  Then,  a  more  practical  case.  One  of  these  girls 
here,  — the  fortune  is  only  fifteen  thousand.  I  think  over  the  mat- 
ter day  and  night,  and  I  verily  believe  I  see  it  in  the  Hght  of  what- 
ever may  be  the  weather  at  the  time  :  very  darkly  on  the  rainy 
days  ;  not  so  gloomy  when  the  sky  is  blue  and  the  air  balmy. 

Do  you  remember  that  fellow  that  I  stayed  behind  for  at  the 
Cape,  and  thereby  lost  my  passage,  just  to  quarrel  with,  —  Heads- 
worth  ?  Well,  a  feeling  of  the  same  sort  is  tempting  me  sorely  at 
this  time.  There  is  one  of  these  girls,  a  poor  delicate  thing,  very 
pretty  and  coquettish  in  her  way,  has  taken  it  into  her  wise  head  to 
prefer  a  stupid  loutish  sort  of  young  sucking  barrister  to  me,  and 
treats  me  with  an  ingenious  blending  of  small  compassion  and  soft 
pity  to  console  my  defeat.  If  you  could  insure  my  being  an  afflic- 
ted widower  within  a  year,  I  'd  marry  her,  just  to  show  her  the  sort 
of  edged  tool  she  has  been  playing  with.  I  'm  often  half  driven 
to  distraction  by  her  impertinent  commiseration.  I  tried  to  get 
into  a  row  with  the  man,  but  he  would  not  have  it.     Don't  you  hate 


536  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

the  fellow  that  won't  quarrel  with  you,  worse  even  than  the  odious 
wretch  who  won't  give  you  credit  ? 

I  might  marry  the  sister,  I  suppose,  to-morrow ;  but  that  alone 
is  a  reason  against  it.  Besides,  she  is  terribly  healthy ;  and  though 
I  have  lost  much  faith  in  consumption,  from  cases  I  have  watched 
in  my  own  family,  bad  air  and  bad  treatment  will  occasionally  aid  its 
march.  Could  you,  from  such  meagre  data  as  these,  help  me  with 
a  word  of  advice  ?  For  I  do  like  the  advice  of  an  unscrupulous  dog 
like  yourself,  —  so  sure  to  be  practical.  Then  there  is  no  cant 
between  men  like  us  ;  we  play  "  cartes  sur  table." 

The  old  maid  who  represents  the  head  of  this  house  has  been 
confidentially  sounding  me  as  to  an  eligible  investment  for  some 
thousands  which  have  fallen  in  from  a  redeemed  mortgage.  I 
could  have  said,  "  Send  them  to  me,  and  you  shall  name  the  interest 
yourself  ; ''  but  I  was  modest,  and  did  not.  I  bethought  me,  however, 
of  a  good  friend,  one  Algy  Drayton,  a  man  of  large  landed  property, 
but  who  always  wants  money  for  drainage.  Eh,  Algy !  Are  your 
lips  watering  at  the  prospect  ?  If  so,  let  your  ingenuity  say  what 
is  to  be  the  security. 

Before  I  forget  it,  ask  Pearson  if  he  has  any  more  of  that 
light  Amontillado.  It  is  the  only  thing  ever  sets  me  right,  and 
I  have  been  poorly  of  late.  I  know  I  must  be  out  of  sorts,  because 
all  day  yesterday  I  was  wretched  and  miserable  at  my  misspent 
life  and  squandered  abilities.  Now,  in  my  healthier  moments  such 
thoughts  never  cross  me.  I  'd  have  been  honest  if  Nature  had  dealt 
fairly  with  me  ;  but  the  younger  son  of  a  younger  brother  starts  too 
heavily  weighted  to  win  by  anything  but  a  "  foul."  You  understand 
this  well,  for  we  are  in  the  same  book.  We  each  of  us  pawned  our 
morality  very  early  in  life,  and  never  were  rich  enough  to  redeem  it. 
A  propos  of  pledges,  is  your  wife  alive  ?  I  lost  a  bet  about  it  some 
time  ago,  but  I  forget  on  which  side.     I  backed  my  opinion. 

Now,  to  sum  up.  Let  me  hear  from  you  about  all  I  have  been 
asking  ;  and,  though  I  don't  opine  it  lies  very  much  in  your  way, 
send  me  any  tidings  you  can  pick  up  —  to  his  disadvantage,  of 
course  —  of  Joseph  Loyd,  Middle  Temple.  You  know  scores  of 
attorneys  who  could  trace  him.  Your  hint  about  letter-writing  for 
the  papers  is  not  a  bad  one.  I  suppose  I  could  learn  the  trick,  and 
do  it  at  least  as  well  as  some  of  the  fellows  whose  lucubrations  I 
read.  A  political  surmise,  a  spicy  bit  of  scandal,  a  sensation  trial, 
wound  up  with  a  few  moral  reflections  upon  how  much  better  we 
do  the  same  sort  of  things  at  home.  Is  n't  that  the  bone  of  it  ? 
Send  me  —  don't  forget  it  —  send  we  some  news  of  Rocksley.  I 
want  to  hear  how  they  take  all  that  I  have  been  doing  of  late  for 
their  happiness.  I  have  half  of  a  letter  written  to  Soph,  —  a  sort 
of    mild   condolence,   blended   with   what   the   serious   people   call 


THE  LIFE  AT  THE   VILLA.  537 

profitable  reflections,  and  suggestive  hints  that  her  old  affection  will 
find  its  way  back  to  me  one  of  these  days,  and  that  when  the 
event  occurs,  her  best  course  will  be  to  declare  it.  I  have  reminded 
her,  too,  that  I  laid  up  a  little  love  in  her  heart  when  we  parted,  just 
as  shrewd  people  leave  a  small  balance  at  their  bankers'  as  a  title  to 
reopen  their  account  at  a  future  day. 

"  Give  Guy's  people  a  hint  that  it 's  only  wasting  postage-stamps 
to  torment  me  with  bills.  I  never  break  the  envelope  of  a  dun's 
letter,  and  I  know  them  as  instinctively  as  a  detective  does  a  swell- 
mobsman.  What  an  imaginative  race  these  duns  must  be  !  1  know 
of  no  fellow,  for  the  high  flights  of  fancy,  to  ecjual  one's  tailor  or 
bootmaker.  As  to  the  search  for  the  elixir  vitae,  it 's  a  dull  realism 
after  the  attempts  I  have  witnessed  for  years  to  get  money  out  of 
myself. 

But  I  must  close  this;  here  is  Milly,  whose  taper  fingers  have 
been  making  cigarettes  for  me  all  the  morning,  come  to  propose  a 
sail  on  the  lake  !  —  fact  Algy  !  —  and  the  wolf  is  going  out  with  the 
lambs,  just  as  prettily  and  as  decorously  as  though  his  mother  had 
been  a  ewe  and  cast  "  sheep's  eyes  "  at  his  father.  Address  me, 
Orta,  simply,  for  I  don't  wish  it  to  be  thought  here  that  my  stay 
is  more  than  a  day-by-day  matter.  I  have  all  my  letters  directed 
to  the  post-office. 

Yours,  very  cordially. 

Harry  Calvert. 


The  pleasant  project  thus  passingly  alluded  to  was  not 
destined  to  fulfilment;  for  as  Calvert  with  the  two  sisters 
were  on  their  way  to  the  lake,  they  were  overtaken  by 
Miss  Grainger,  who  insisted  on  carrying  away  Calvert,  to 
give  her  his  advice  upon  a  letter  she  had  just  received. 
Obeying  with  the  best  grace  he  could,  and  which  really 
did  not  err  on  the  score  of  extravagance,  he  accompanied 
the  old  lady  back  to  the  house,  somewhat  relieved,  indeed, 
in  mind,  to  learn  that  the  letter  she  was  about  to  show  him 
in  no  way  related  to  him  nor  his  affairs. 

"I  have  my  scruples,  Mr.  Calvert,  about  asking  your 
opinion  in  a  case  where  I  well  know  your  sympathies  are 
not  in  unison  with  our  own ;  but  your  wise  judgment  and 
great  knowledge  of  life  are  advantages  I  oannot  bring  my- 
self to  relinquish.  I  am  well  aware  that  whatever  your 
feelings  or  your  prejudices,  they  will  not  interfere  with 
that  good  judgment." 


638  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

''Madam,  you  do  me  honor,  but  I  hope  no  more  than 
justice." 

' '  You  know  of  Florry's  engagement  to  Mr.  Loyd  ?  "  she 
asked,  abruptly,  as  though  eager  to  begin  her  recital;  and 
he  bowed.  ''Well,  he  left  this  so  hurriedly  about  his 
father's  affairs  that  he  had  no  time  to  settle  anything,  or, 
indeed,  explain  anything.  We  knew  nothing  of  his  pros- 
pects or  his  means,  and  he  just  as  little  about  my  niece's 
fortune.  He  had  written,  it  is  true,  to  his  father,  and  got 
a  most  kind  and  affectionate  answer,  sanctioning  the  match, 
and  expressing  fervent  wishes  for  his  happiness  —  Why 
do  you  smile,  Mr.  Calvert?" 

"  I  was  only  thinking  of  the  beauty  o^  that  benevolence 
that  costs  nothing;  few  things  are  more  graceful  than  a 
benediction,  —  nothing  so  cheap." 

"That  may  be  so.  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  it,"  she 
rejoined,  in  some  irritation.  "  But  old  Mr.  Loyd's  letter 
was  very  beautiful,  and  very  touching.  He  reminded 
Joseph  that  he  himself  had  married  on  the  very  scantiest 
of  means,  and  that  though  his  life  had  never  been  above 
the  condition  of  a  very  poor  vicar,  the  narrowness  of  his 
fortune  had  not  barred  his  happiness.  I  'd  like  to  read  you 
a  passage  —  " 

"  Pray  do  not.  You  have  given  me  the  key-note,  and  I 
feel  as  if  I  could  score  down  the  whole  symphony." 

"You  don't  believe  him  thenP'j 

"  Heaven  f orf end !  All  I  woula  say,  is,  that  between  a 
man  of  his  temperament  and  one  of  mine,  discussion  is 
impossible ;  and  if  this  be  the  letter  on  which  you  want 
my  opinion,  I  frankly  tell  you  I  have  none  to  give." 

"  No,  no!  this  is  not  the  letter;  here  is  the  letter  I  wish 
you  to  read.  It  has  only  come  by  this  morning's  post,  and 
I  want  to  have  your  judgment  on  it  before  I  speak  of  it 
to  the  girls." 

Calvert  drew  the  letter  slowly  from  its  envelope,  and  with 
a  sort  of  languid  resignation  proceeded  to  read  it.  As  he 
reached  the  end  of  the  first  page,  he  said,  "  Why,  it  would 
need  a  lawyer  of  the  Ecclesiastical  Court  to  understand  this. 
What's  all  this  entangled  story  about  irregular  induction, 
and  the  last  incumbent,  and  the  lay  impropriator  ?  " 


THE   LIFE   AT  THE  VILLA.  639 

"Oh,  you  needn't  have  read  that!  It's  the  poor  old 
gentleman's  account  of  his  calamity,  —  how  he  has  lost  hia 
vicarage,  and  is  going  down  to  a  curacy  in  Cornwall. 
Here,"  said  she,  pointing  to  another  page,  "here  is  where 
you  are  to  begin :    '  I  might  have  borne  —  '  " 

"Ah,  yes!"  said  he,  reading  aloud:  "'I  might  have 
borne  up  better  under  this  misfortune  if  it  had  not  occurred 
at  such  a  critical  moment  of  my  poor  boy's  fate,  for  I  am 
still  uncertain  what  effect  these  tidings  will  have  produced 
on  you.  I  shall  no  longer  have  a  home  to  offer  the  young 
people,  when,  from  reasons  of  health,  or  economy,  or  relaxa- 
tion, they  would  like  to  have  left  the  town  and  come  down 
to  rusticate  with  r  us.  ^  Neither  will  it  be  in  my  power  to 
contribute  —  even  in  the  humble  shape  I  had  once  hoped  — 
to  their  means  of  living.  I  am,  in  short,  reduced  to  the 
very  narrowest  fortune,  nor  have  I  the  most  distant  pros- 
pect of  any  better.  So  much  for  myself.  As  for  Joseph, 
he  has  been  offered,  through  the  friendly  intervention  of 
an  old  college  companion,  an  appointment  at  the  Calcutta 
Bar.  It  is  not  a  lucrative  nor  an  important  post,  but  one 
which  they  say  will  certainly  lead  to  advancement  and  future 
fortune.  Had  it  not  been  for  his  hopes,  —  hopes  which  had 
latterly  constituted  the  very  spring  of  his  existence,  —  such 
an  opening  as  this  would  have  been  welcomed  with  all  his 
heart ;  but  now  the  offer  comes  clouded  with  all  the  doubts 
as  to  how  you  may  be  disposed  to  regard  it.  Will  you 
consent  to  separate  from  the  dear  girl  you  have  watched 
over  with  such  loving  solicitude  for  years?  Will  she  her- 
self consent  to  expatriation  and  the  parting  from  her  sister 
and  yourself?  These  are  the  questions  which  torture  his 
mind,  and  leave  him  no  rest  day  or  night !  The  poor  fellow 
has  tried  to  plead  his  cause  in  a  letter,  he  has  essayed  a 
dozen  times;  but  all  in  vain.  "  My  own  selfishness  shocks 
me,"  he  says,  "  when  I  read  over  what  I  have  written,  and 
see  how  completely  I  have  forgotten  everything  but  my  own 
interests."  If  he  remain  at  home,  by  industry  and  atten- 
tion he  may  hope,  in  some  six  or  seven  years,  to  be  in  a 
position  to  marry ;  but  six  or  seven  years  are  a  long  period 
of  life,  and  sure  to  have  their  share  of  vicissitudes  and  cas- 
ualties. Whereas,  by  accepting  this  appointment,  which 
will  be  nearly  seven  hundred  a  year,  he  could  afford  at  once 


640  A  RENT  IN  A   CLOUD. 

to  support  a  wife,  of  course  supposing  her  to  submit  will- 
ingly to  the  privations  and  wants  of  such  straitened  for- 
tunes. I  have  offered  to  tell  his  story  for  him,  —  that  story 
he  has  no  strength  to  tell  himself,  —  but  I  have  not  pledged 
to  be  his  advocate ;  for,  while  I  would  lay  down  my  life  to 
secure  his  happiness,  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  urge,  for 
his  sake,  what  might  be  unfair  or  ungenerous  to  exact  from 
another. 

"  '  Though  my  son's  account  of  your  niece  leaves  us 
nothing  more  to  ask  or  wish  for  in  a  daughter,  I  am  writ- 
ing in  ignorance  of  many  things  I  would  like  to  know. 
Has  she,  for  instance,  the  energy  of  character  that  would 
face  a  new  life  in  a  new  and  far-away  land?  Has  she  cour- 
age—  has  she  health  for  it?  My  wife  is  not  pleased  at  my 
stating  all  these  reasons  for  doubt;  but  I  am  determined 
you  shall  know  the  worst  of  our  case  from  ourselves,  and 
discover  no  blot  we  have  not  prepared  you  for.'  "  Calvert 
muttered  something  here,  but  too  inaudibly  to  be  heard, 
and  went  on  reading:  "'When  I  think  that  poor  Joe's 
whole  happiness  will  depend  on  what  decision  your  next 
letter  will  bring,  I  'have  only  to  pray  that  it  may  be  such  as 
will  conduce  to  the  welfare  of  those  we  both  love  so  dearly. 
I  cannot  ask  you  to  make  what  are  called  "sacrifices  "  for 
us;  but  I  entreat  you  let  the  consideration  of  affection 
weigh  with  you,  not  less  than  that  of  worldly  interests,  and 
also  to  believe  that  when  one  has  to  take  a  decision  which 
is  to  influence  a  lifetime,  it  is  as  safe  to  take  counsel  from 
the  heart  as  from  the  head,  —  from  the  nature  that  is  to 
feel,   as  from  the  intellect  that  is  to  plan.' 

"I  think  I  have  read  enough  of  this,"  said  Calvert, 
impatiently.  "I  know  the  old  gent's  brief  perfectly.  It 's 
the  old  story:  first  gain  a  girl's  affections,  and  let  her 
friends  squabble,  if  they  dare,  about  the  settlements.  He  's 
an  artful  old  boy,  that  vicar!  but  I  like  him,  on  the  whole, 
better  than  his  son;  for  though  he  does  plead  in  forma 
pauperis^  he  has  the  fairness  to  say  so." 

"You  are  very  severe,  Mr.  Calvert.  I  hope  you  are  too 
severe,"  said  the  old  lady,   in  some  agitation. 

"And  what  answer, are  you  going  to  give  him?"  asked 
he,  curtly. 

"That  is  exactly  the  point  on  which  I  want  your  advice; 


THE  LIFE   AT  THE   VILLA.  541 

for  though  I  know  well  you  are  no  friend  to  young  Loyd,  I 
believe  you  to  be  our  sincere  well-wisher,  and  that  your 
judgment  will  be  guided  by  the  honest  feelings  of  regard 
for  us." 

Without  deigning  to  notice  this  speech,  he  arose  and 
walked  up  and  down  the  room,  apparently  deep  in  thought. 
He  stopped  at  last,  and  said  abruptly,  ''I  don't  presume  to 
dictate  to  you  in  this  business;  but  if  I  were  the  young 
lady's  guardian,  and  got  such  a  letter  as  this,  my  reply 
would  be  a  very  brief  one." 

''You  'd  refuse  your  consent?  " 

"  Of  course  I  would !  Must  your  niece  turn  adventuress, 
and  go  off  to  Heaven  knows  where,  with  God  knows  whom? 
Must  she  link  her  fortunes  to  a  man  who  confessedly  can- 
not face  the  world  at  home,  but  must  go  to  the  end  of  the 
earth  for  a  bare  subsistence?  What  is  there  in  this*  man 
himself,  in  his  character,  station,  abilities,  and  promise, 
that  are  to  recompense  such  devotion  as  this?  And  what 
will  your  own  conscience  say  to  the  first  letter  from  India, 
full  of  depression  and  sorrow,  regrets  shadowed  forth,  if 
not  avowed  openly,  for  the  happy  days  when  you  were  all 
together,  and  contrasts  of  that  time,  with  the  dreary  dul- 
ness  of  an  uncheered  existence?  /  know  something  of 
India,  and  I  can  tell  you  it  is  a  country  where  life  is  only 
endurable  by  splendor.  Poverty  in  such  a  land  is  not 
merely  privation,  it  is  to  live  in  derision  and  contempt. 
Every  one  knows  how  many  rupees  you  have  per  month,  and 
you  are  measured  by  your  means  in  everything.  That 
seven  hundred  a  year,  which  sounds  plausibly  enough,  is 
something  like  two  hundred  at  home,  if  so  much.  Of 
course  you  can  override  all  these  considerations,  and,  as 
the  vicar  says,  'Let  the  heart  take  precedence  of  the  head.' 
My  cold  and  worldly  counsels  will  not  stand  comparison 
with  his  fine  and  generous  sentiments,  no  more  than  I  could 
make  as  good  a  figure  in  the  pulpit  as  he  could.  But,  per- 
haps, as  a  mere  man  of  the  world,  I  am  his  equal ;  though 
there  are  little  significant  hints  in  that  very  letter  that  show 
the  old  parson  is  very  wide  awake." 

"I  never  detected  them,"  said  she,  curtly. 

"Perhaps  not;  but  rely  upon  one  thing.     It  was  not  such 


642  A  EENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

a  letter  as  he  would  have  addressed  to  a  man.  If  /,  for 
instance,  had  been  the  guardian  instead  of  you,  the  whole 
tone  of  the  epistle  would  have  been  very  different." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"Think  so!  I  know  it.  I  had  not  read  ten  lines  till  I 
said  to  myself,  'This  was  meant  for  very  different  eyes 
from  mine.'  " 

"If  I  thought  that  — " 

"Go  on,"  said  he;  "finish,  and  let  me  hear  what  you 
would  say  or  do,  when  arrived  at  the  conclusion  I  have 
come  to." 

So  far,  however,  from  having  come  to  any  decision,  she 
really  did  not  see  in  the  remotest  distance  anything  to  guide 
her  to  one. 

"What  would  you  advise  me  to  do,  Mr.  Calvert?  "  said 
she,  at  last,  and  after  a  pause  of  some  time. 

"Refer  him  to  me;  say  the  point  is  too  difficult  for  you; 
that  while  your  feelings  for  your  niece  might  overbear  all 
other  considerations,  those  very  feelings  might  be  the 
sources  of  error  to  you.  You  might,  for  instance,  concede 
too  much  to  the  claim  of  affection;  or,  on  the  other  hand, 
be  too  regardful  of  the  mere  worldly  consideration.  Not 
that,  on  second  thoughts,  I  'd  enter  upon  this  to  him.  I  'd 
simply  say  a  friend  in  whom  I  repose  the  fullest  confidence 
has  consented  to  represent  me  in  this  difficult  matter.  Not 
swayed  as  I  am  by  the  claims  of  affection,  he  will  be  able 
to  give  a  calmer  and  more  dispassionate  judgment  than  I 
could.  Write  to  Mr.  Calvert,  therefore,  who  is  now  here, 
and  say  what  the  mere  business  aspect  of  the  matter  sug- 
gests to  you  to  urge.  Write  to  him  frankly,  as  to  one  who 
already  is  known  to  your  son,  and  has  lived  on  terms  of  in- 
timacy with  him.     His  reply  will  be  mine." 

"Is  not  that  a  very  cold  and  repelling  answer  to  the  good 
vicar's  letter?  " 

"I  think  not,  and  I  suspect  it  will  have  one  good  effect. 
The  parson's  style  will  become  natural  at  once,  and  you  '11 
see  what  a  very  different  fashion  he  '11  write  when  the  letter 
is  addressed  to  me." 

"What  will  Florence  say?  " 

"Nothing,  if  she  knows  nothing.     And,  of  course,  if  you 


THE  LIFE  AT  THE  VILLA.  643 

intend  to  take  her  into  your  counsels,  you  must  please  to 
omit  me,  I  'm  not  going  to  legislate  for  a  young  lady's 
future  with  herself  to  vote  in  the  division!" 

"But  what's  to  become  of  me  if  you  go  away  in  the 
middle  of  the  negotiation,  and  leave  me  to  finish  it?" 

"I  '11  not  do  so.  I  '11  pledge  my  word  to  see  you  through 
it.  It  will  be  far  shorter  than  you  suspect.  The  vicar  will 
not  play  out  his  hand  when  he  sees  his  adversary.  You 
have  nothing  to  do  but  write  as  I  have  told  you ;  leave  the 
rest  to  me." 

"Florence  is  sure  to  ask  me  what  the  vicar  has  written; 
she  knows  that  I  have  had  his  letter." 

"Tell  her  it  is  a  purely  business  letter;  that,  his  son 
having  been  offered  a  colonial  appointment,  he  wishes  to 
ascertain  what  your  fortune  is,  and  how  circumstanced, 
before  pledging  himself  further.  Shock  her  a  little  about 
their  worldliness,  and  leave  the  remainder  to  time." 

"But  Joseph  will  write  to  her  in  the  mean  while,  and 
disabuse  her  of  this." 

"Not  completely.  She  '11  be  annoyed  that  the  news  of 
the  colonial  place  did  not  come  first  from  himself;  she  '11  be 
piqued  into  something  not  very  far  from  distrust.  She  '11 
show  some  vexation  when  she  writes;  but  don't  play  the 
game  before  the  cards  are  dealt.  Wait,  as  I  say,  —  wait 
and  see.  Meanwhile,  give  me  the  vicar's  note;  for  I  dread 
your  showing  it  to  Florry,  and  if  she  asks  for  it,  say  you 
sent  it  to  Henderson  —  is  n't  that  your  lawyer's  name?  —  in 
London,  and  told  him  to  supply  you  with  the  means  of 
replying  to  it." 

Like  a  fly  in  a  cobweb.  Miss  Grainger  saw  herself  entan- 
gled wherever  she  turned;  and  though  perhaps  in  her 
secret  heart  she  regretted  having  ever  called  Calvert  to  her 
counsels,  the  thing  was  now  done,  and  could  not  be 
undone. 


CHAPTER  XIL 

DARKER  AND  DARKER. 

There  was  an  unusual  depression  at  the  villa ;  each  had  his 
or  her  own  load  of  anxiety,  and  each  felt  that  an  atmos- 
phere of  gloom  was  thickening  around,  and,  without  being 
able  to  say  why  or  wherefore,  that  dark  days  were  coming. 

''Among  your  letters  this  morning  was  there  none  from 
the  vicar,  Mr.  Calvert?"  asked  Miss  Grainger,  as  he  sat 
smoking  his  morning  cigar  under  the  porch  of  the  cottage. 

''No,"  said  he,  carelessly.  "The  post  brought  me  noth- 
ing of  any  interest.  A  few  reproaches  from  my  friends 
about  not  writing,  and  relieving  their  anxieties  about  this 
unhappy  business.  They  had  it  that  I  was  killed.  Beyond 
that,  nothing." 

"But  we  ought  to  have  heard  from  old  Mr.  Loyd  before 
this.     Strange,   too,  Joseph  has  not  written." 

"  Stranger  if  he  had !  The  very  mention  of  my  name  as 
a  referee  in  his  affairs  will  make  him  very  cautious  with 
his  pen." 

"  She  is  so  fretted,"  sighed  the  old  lady. 

"I  see  she  is,  and  I  see  she  suspects,  also,  that  you  have 
taken  me  in  your  counsels.  We  are  not  as  good  friends 
as  we  were  some  time  back." 

"She  really  likes  you,  though,  — I  assure  you  she  does, 
Mr.  Calvert.  It  was  but  t'other  day  she  said,  'What  would 
have  become  of  us  all  this  time  back  if  Mad  Harry,  —  you 
know  your  nickname,  —  if  Mad  Harry  had  not  been  here  ?  " 

"That 's  not  liking!  Xhat  is  merely  the  expression  of  a 
weak  gratitude  towards  the  person  who  helps  to  tide  over  a 
dreary  interval.  You  might  feel  it  for  the  old  priest  who 
played  piquet  with  you,  or  the  Spitz  terrier  that  accom- 
panied you  in  your  walks." 


DARKER  AND  DARKER.  645 

"Oh,  it 's  far  more  than  that.  She  is  constantly  talking 
of  your  great  abilities,  —  how  you  might  be  this,  that,  and 
t'other.  That,  with  scarcely  an  effort,  you  can  master  any 
subject,  and  without  any  effort  at  all  always  make  yourself 
more  agreeable  than  any  one  else." 

"Joseph  excepted?  " 

"No,  she  did  n't  even  except  him;  on  the  contrary,  she 
said,  'It  was  unfortunate  for  him  to  be  exposed  to  such 
a  dazzling  rivalry;  that  your  animal  spirits  alone  would 
always  beat  him  out  of  the  field. '  " 

"Stuff  and  nonsense!  If  I  was  n't  as  much  his  superior 
in  talent  as  in  temperament,  I  'd  fling  myself  over  that  rock 
yonder,  and  make  an  end  of  it!  "  After  a  few  seconds' 
pause  he  went  on:  "She  may  think  what  she  likes  of  me, 
but  one  thing  is  plain  enough,  —  she  does  not  love  him.  It 
is  the  sort  of  compassionating,  commiserating  estimate 
imaginative  girls  occasonally  get  up  for  dreary,  depressed 
fellows,  constituting  themselves  discoverers  of  intellect 
that  no  one  ever  suspected,  —  revealers  of  wealth  that  none 
had  ever  dreamed  of.  Don't  I  know  scores  of  such  who 
have  poetized  the  most  commonplace  of  men  into  heroes, 
and  never  found  out  their  mistake  till  they  married  them !  " 

"You  always  terrify  me  when  you  take  to  predicting, 
Mr.  Calvert." 

"Heaven  knows,  it 's  not  my  ordinary  mood.  One  who 
looks  so  little  into  the  future  for  himself  has  few  tempta- 
tions to  do  so  for  his  friends." 

"Why  do  you  feel  so  depressed?  " 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I  do  feel  depressed.  I'm  irritable, 
out  of  sorts,  annoyed,  if  you  will,  but  not  low  or  melan- 
choly. Is  it  not  enough  to  make  one  angry  to  see  such  a 
girl  as  Florry  bestow  her  affections  on  that  —  Well,  I  'II 
not  abuse  him,  but  you  know  he  is  a  'cad,*  —  that's  exactly 
the  word  that  fits  him." 

"It  was  no  choice  of  mine,"  she  sighed. 

"That  may  be;  but  you  ought  to  have  been  more  than 
passive  in  the  matter.  Your  fears  would  have  prevented 
you  letting  your  niece  stop  for  a  night  in  an  unhealthy 
locality.  You  'd  not  have  suffered  her  to  halt  in  the  Pon- 
tine Marshes;  but  you  can  see  no  danger  in  linking  her 

35 


546  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

whole  future  life  to  Influences  five  thousand  times  more 
depressing.  I  tell  you,  and  I  tell  you  deliberately,  that 
she  'd  have  a  far  better  chance  of  happiness  with  a  scamp 
like  myself." 

"Ah,  I  need  not  tell  you  my  own  sentiments  on  that 
point,"  said  she,  with  a  deep  sigh. 

Calvert  apparently  set  little  store  by  such  sympathy,  for 
he  rose,  and,  throwing  away  the  end  of  his  cigar,  stood 
looking  out  over  the  lake.  "Here  comes  Onofrio,  flourish- 
ing some  letters  in  his  hand.  The  idiot  fancies  the  post 
never  brings  any  but  pleasant  tidings." 

"Let  us  go  down  and  meet  him,"  said  Miss  Grainger; 
and  he  walked  along  at  her  side  in  silence. 

"Three  for  the  Signor  Capitano,"  said  the  boatman,  "and 
one  for  the  signorina,"  handing  the  letters  as  he  landed. 

"Drayton,"  muttered  Calvert;  "the  others  are  strange  to 
me." 

"This  is  from  Joseph.  How  glad  poor  Florry  will  be  to 
get  it." 

"Don't  defer  her  happiness,  then,"  said  he,  half  sternly; 
"I  '11  sit  down  on  the  rocks  here  and  con  over  my  less 
pleasant  correspondence."  One  was  from  his  lawj^er,  to 
state  that  outlawry  could  no  longer  be  resisted,  and  that  if 
his  friends  would  not  come  forward  at  once  with  some  sat- 
isfactory promise  of  arrangement,  the  law  must  take  its 
course.  "My  friends,"  said  he,  with  a  bitter  laugh, 
"which  be  they?  "  The  next  he  opened  was  from  the  army 
agents,  dryly  setting  forth  that  as  he  had  left  the  service 
it  was  necessary  he  should  take  some  immediate  steps  to 
liquidate  some  regimental  claims  against  him,  of  which 
they  begged  to  enclose  the  particulars.  He  laughed  bit- 
terly and  scornfully  as  he  tore  the  letter  to  fragments  and 
threw  the  pieces  into  the  water.  "  How  well  they  know  the 
man  they  threaten!"  cried  he,  defiantly.  "I'd  like  to 
know  how  much  a  drowning  man  cares  for  his  duns?  "  He 
laughed  again.  "Now  for  Drayton.  I  hope  this  will  be 
pleasanter  than  its  predecessors."  It  was  not  very  long, 
and  it  was  as  follows:  — 

The  Rag,  Tuesday. 

Dear  Harry,  —  Your  grateful  compliments  on  the  dexterity  of  my 
correspondence  in  the  "Meteor"  arrived  at  an  unlucky  moment,  for 


DARKER  AND  DARKER.  547 

some  fellow  had  just  written  to  the  editor  a  real  statement  of  the 
whole  affair,  and  the  next  day  came  a  protest,  part  French,  part 
English,  signed  by  Edward  Rochefort,  Lieutenant-Colonel ;  Gustavus 
Brooke,  D.L.;  George  Law,  M.D. ;  Alberic  de  Raymond,  Vicomte, 
and  Jules  de  Lassagnac.  They  sent  for  me  to  the  office  to  see  the 
document,  and  I  threw  all  imaginable  discredit  on  its  authenticity,  but 
without  success.  The  upshot  is,  1  have  lost  my  place  as  "  own  cor- 
respondent," and  you  are  in  a  very  bad  way.  The  whole  will  appear 
in  print  to-morrow,  and  be  read  from  Hudson's  Bay  to  the  Himalaya. 
I  have  done  my  best  to  get  the  other  papers  to  disparage  the 
statement,  and  have  written  all  the  usual  bosh  about  condemning  a 
man  in  his  absence,  and  entreating  the  public  to  withhold  its  judg- 
ment, etc.  etc.;  but  they  all  seem  to  feel  that  the  tide  of  popular 
sentiment  is  too  strong  to  resist,  and  you  must  be  pilloried :  prepare 
yourself,  then,  for  a  pitiless  pelting,  which,  as  Parliament  is  not 
sitting,  will  probably  have  a  run  of  three  or  four  weeks. 

In  any  other  sort  of  scrape,  the  fellows  at  the  club  here  would 
have  stood  by  you  ;  but  they  shrink  from  the  danger  of  this  business, 
which  I  now  see  was  worse  than  you  told  me.  Many,  too,  are 
more  angry  with  you  for  deserting  B.  than  for  shooting  the  other 
fellow ;  and  though  B.  was  an  arrant  snob,  now  that  he  is  no  more 
you  would  n't  believe  what  shoals  of  good  qualities  they  have  dis- 
covered he  possessed,  and  he  is  "  poor  Bob  "  in  the  mouth  of  twenty 
fellows  who  would  not  have  been  seen  in  his  company  a  month 
ago.  There  is,  however,  worse  than  all  this ;  a  certain  Reppingham, 
or  Reppengham,  the  father  of  B.'s  wife,  has  either  already  instituted 
or  is  about  to  institute,  proceedings  against  you  criminally.  He  uses 
ugly  words,  calls  it  a  murder,  and  has  demanded  a  warrant  for 
your  extradition  and  arrest  at  once.  There  is  a  story  of  some 
note  you  are  said  to  have  written  to  B.,  but  which  arrived  when  he 
was  insensible,  and  was  read  by  the  people  about  him,  who  were 
shocked  by  its  heartless  levity.  What  is  the  truth  as  to  this? 
At  all  events.  Rep  has  got  a  vendetta  fit  on  him,  and  raves  like  a 
(Jorsican  for  vengeance.  Your  present  place  of  concealment,  safe 
enough  for  duns,  will  offer  no  security  against  detectives.  The 
bland  blackguards  with  black  whiskers  know  the  geography  of 
Europe  as  well  as  they  know  the  blind  alleys  about  Houndsditch. 
You  must  decamp,  therefore;  get  across  the  Adriatic  into  Dalmatia, 
or  into  Greece.  Don't  delay,  whatever  you  do,  for  I  see  plainly 
that  in  the  present  state  of  public  opinion,  the  fellow  who  captures 
you  will  come  back  here  with  a  fame  like  that  of  Gerard  the  lion- 
killer.  Be  sure  of  one  thing,  if  you  were  just  as  clean-handed  in 
this  business  as  I  know  you  are  not,  there  is  no  time  now  for  a 
vindication.  You  must  get  out  of  the  way,  and  wait.  The  clubs, 
the  press,  the  swells  at  the  Horse  Guards,  and  the  snobs   at  the 


548  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

War-Office,  are  all  against  you,  and  there  's  no  squaring  your  book 
against  such  long  odds.  I  am  well  aware  that  no  one  gets  either 
into  or  out  of  a  scrape  more  easily  than  yourself;  but  don't  treat 
this  as  a  light  one ;  don't  fancy,  above  all,  that  I  am  giving  you 
the  darkest  side  of  it,  for,  with  all  our  frankness  and  free  speech 
too-ether,  I  could  n't  tell  you  the  language  people  hold  here  about  it. 
There  's  not  a  man  you  ever  bullied  at  mess,  or  beat  at  billiards,  ^ 
that  is  not  paying  off  his  scores  to  you  now  !  And  though  you  may 
take  all  this  easily,  don't  undervalue  its  importance. 

1  have  n't  got  —  and  I  don't  suppose  you  care  much  now  to 
get  —  any  information  about  Loyd,  beyond  his  being  appointed 
something,  Attorney-General's  "  devil,"  I  believe,  at  Calcutta.  I  'd 
not  have  heard  even  so  much,  but  he  was  trying  to  get  a  loan,  to 
make  out  his  outfit,  from  Joel,  and  old  Isaac  told  me  who  he  was, 
and  what  he  wanted.  Joel  thinks,  from  the  state  of  the  fellow's 
health,  that  no  one  will  like  to  advance  the  cash,  and  if  so,  he  '11  be 
obliged  to  relinquish  the  place.  You  have  not  told  me  whether  you 
wish  this,  or  the  opposite. 

I  wish  I  could  book  up  to  you  at  such  a  moment  as  this,  but  I 
have  n't  got  it.  I  send  you  all  that  I  can  scrape  together,  —  seventy 
odd  ;  it  is  a  post-bill,  and  easily  cashed  anywhere.  In  case  I  hear 
of  anything  that  may  be  imminently  needed  for  your  guidance, 
1  '11  telegraph  to  you  the  morrow  after  your  receipt  of  this,  address- 
ing the  message  to  the  name  Grainger,  to  prevent  accidents.  You 
must  try  and  keep  your  friends  from  seeing  the  London  papers  so 
long  as  you  stay  with  them.  I  suppose,  when  you  leave,  you  '11 
not  fret  about  the  reputation  that  follows  you.  For  the  last  time, 
let  me  warn  you  to  get  away  to  some  place  of  safety,  for  if  they  can 
push  matters  to  an  arrest,  things  may  take  an  ugly  turn. 

They  are  getting  really  frightened  here  about  India  at  last. 
Harris  has  brought  some  awful  news  home  with  him,  and  they  'd 
give  their  right  hands  to  have  those  regiments  they  sent  off 
to  China  to  despatch  now  to  Calcutta.  I  know  this  will  be  all 
"•  nuts  "  to  you,  and  it  is  the  only  bit  of  pleasant  tidings  I  have  for 
you.  Your  old  prediction  about  England  being  a  third-rate  power, 
like  Holland,  may  not  be  so  far  from  fulfilment  as  I  used  to  think  it. 
I  wonder  shall  we  ever  have  a  fire-side  gossip  over  all  these  things 
again?  At  present,  all  looks  too  dark  to  get  a  peep  into  the  future. 
Write  to  me  at  once,  say  what  you  mean  to  do,  and  believe  me  as 
ever,  yours, 

A.  Drayton. 

I  have  just  heard  that  the  lawyers  are  in  doubt  as  to  the 
legality  of  extradition,  and  Braddon  declares  dead  against  it.  In 
the  case  they  relied  on,  the  man  had  come  to  England  after  being 


DARKER  AND  DARKER.  549 

tried  in  France,  thinking  himself  safe,  as  "  autrefois  acquit ; "  but 

they  found  him  guilty  at  the  Old   Bailey,  and him.     There 's 

delicacy  for  you,  after  your  own  heart. 

Calvert  smiled  grimly  at  his  friend's  pleasantry.  "Here 
.is  enough  trouble  for  any  man  to  deal  with.  Duns,  out- 
lawry, and  a  criminal  prosecution ! "  said  he,  as  he  replaced 
his  letter  in  its  envelope,  and  lighted  his  cigar.  He  had 
not  been  many  minutes  in  the  enjoyment  of  his  weed,  when 
he  saw  Miss  Grainger  coming  hastily  towards  him.  ''I 
wish  that  old  woman  would  let  me  alone,  just  now !  "  mut- 
tered he.  ''I  have  need  of  all  my  brains  for  my  own 
misfortunes." 

"It  has  turned  out  just  as  I  predicted,  Mr.  Calvert,"  said 
she,  pettishly.  "  Young  Loyd  is  furious  at  having  his  pre- 
tensions referred  to  you,  and  will  not  hear  of  it.  His  letter 
to  Florence  is  all  but  reproachful,  and  she  has  gone  home 
with  her  eyes  full  of  tears.  This  note  for  you  came  as  an 
enclosure." 

Calvert  took  the  note  from  her  hands,  and,  laying  it  beside 
him  on  the  rock,  smoked  on  without  speaking. 

"  I  knew  everything  that  would  happen !  "  said  Miss 
Grainger.  ^'The  old  man  gave  the  letter  you  wrote  to  his 
son,  who  immediately  sat  down  and  wrote  to  Florry.  I 
have  not  seen  the  letter  myself,  but  Milly  declares  that  it 
goes  so  far  as  to  say  that  if  Florry  admits  of  any  advice  or 
interference  on  your  part,  it  is  tantamount  to  a  desire  to 
break  off  the  engagement.  He  declares,  however,  that  he 
neither  can  nor  will  believe  such  a  thing  to  be  possible. 
That  he  knows  she  is  ignorant  of  the  whole  intrigue. 
Milly  assures  me  that  was  the  word,  —  intrigue ;  and  she 
read  it  twice  over,  to  be  certain.  He  also  says  something, 
which  I  do  not  quite  understand,  about  my  being  led  beyond 
the  bounds  of  judgment  by  what  he  calls  a  traditional 
reverence  for  the  name  you  bear;  but  one  thing  is  plain 
enough,  he  utterly  rejects  the  reference  to  you,  or,  indeed, 
to  any  one  now  but  Florence  herself,  and  says,  'This  is 
certainly  a  case  for  your  own  decision,  and  I  will  accept 
of  none  other  than  yours.'" 

"Is  there  anything  more  about  me  than  you  have  said?  " 
asked  Calvert,  calmly. 


550  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

"  No,  I  believe  not.  He  begs,  in  the  postscript,  that  the 
enclosed  note  may  be  given  to  you,  that 's  all." 

Calvert  took  a  long  breath;  he  felt  as  if  a  weight  had 
been  removed  from  his  heart,  and  he  smoked  on  in  silence. 

"Won't  you  read  it?"  cried  she,  eagerly.  "lam  burn- 
ing to  hear  what  he  says." 

"I  can  tell  you  just  as  well  without  breaking  the  seal," 
said  he,  with  a  half  scornful  smile.  "  I  know  the  very  tone 
and  style  of  it,  and  I  recognize  the  pluck  with  which  such  a 
man,  when  a  thousand  miles  off,  dares  to  address  one  like 
myself." 

"Read  it,  though;  let  me  hear  his  own  words!"  cried 
she. 

"I  'm  not  impatient  for  it,"  said  he;  "I  have  had  a  suffi- 
cient dose  of  bitters  this  morning,  and  I  .'d  just  as  soon 
spare  myself  the  acrid  petulance  of  this  poor  creature." 

"You  are  very  provoking,  I  must  say,"  said  she,  angrily, 
and  turned  away  towards  the  house.  Calvert  watched  her 
till  she  disappeared  behind  a  copse,  and  then  hastily  broke 
open  the  letter. 

Middle  Temple,  Saturday. 

Sir,  —  My  father  has  forwarded  to  me  a  letter  which,  with 
very  questionable  good  taste,  you  addressed  to  him.  The  very 
relations  which  subsisted  between  us  when  we  parted  might  have 
suggested  a  more  dehcate  course  on  your  part.  Whatever  objec- 
tions I  might  then,  however,  have  made  to  your  interference  in  matters 
personal  to  myself,  have  now  become  something  more  than  mere 
objections,  and  I  flatly  declare  that  I  will  not  listen  to  one  word 
from  a  man  whose  name  is  now  a  shame  and  a  disgrace  throughout 
Europe.  That  you  may  quit  the  roof  which  has  sheltered  you  hitherto 
without  the  misery  of  exposure,  I  have  forborne  in  my  letter  to 
narrate  the  story  which  is  on  every  tongue  here  ;  but,  as  the  price  of 
this  forbearance,  I  desire  and  I  exact  that  you  leave  the  villa  on 
the  day  you  receive  this,  and  cease  from  that  day  forth  to  hold 
any  intercourse  with  the  family  who  reside  in  it.  If  I  do  not, 
therefore,  receive  a  despatch  by  telegraph,  informing  me  that  you 
accede  to  these  conditions,  I  will  forward  by  the  next  post  the  full 
details  which  the  press  of  England  is  now  giving  of  your  imfamous 
conduct  and  of  the  legal  steps  which  are  to  be  instituted  against 
you 

Remember  distinctly,  sir,  that  I  am  only  in  this  pledging  myself 
for  that  short  interval  of  time  which  will  suffer  you  to  leave  the 


DARKER  AND  DARKER.  651 

house  of  those  who  offered  you  a  refuge  against  calamity,  —  not 
crime,  —  and  whose  shame  would  be  overwhelming  if  they  but 
knew  the  character  of  him  they  sheltered.  You  are  to  leave  before 
nightfall  of  the  day  this  reaches,  and  never  to  return.  You  are 
to  abstain  from  all  correspondence.  I  make  no  conditions  as  to 
future  acquaintanceship,  because  1  know  that  were  1  even  so  minded, 
no  efforts  of  mine  could  save  you  from  that  notoriety  which  a  few 
days  more  will  attach  to  you,  never  to  leave  you. 

I  am,  your  obedient  servant, 

Joseph  Loyd. 

Calvert  tried  to  laugh  as  he  finished  the  reading  of  this 
note;  but  the  attempt  was  a  failure,  and  a  sickly  pallor 
spread  over  his  face,  and  his  lips  trembled.  "Let  me  only- 
meet  you,  I  don't  care  in  vrhat  presence  or  in  what  place," 
muttered  he,  "  and  you  shall  pay  dearly  for  this.  But  now 
to  think  of  myself.  This  is  just  the  sort  of  fellow  to  put 
his  threat  into  execution,  —  the  more  since  he  will  naturally 
be  anxious  to  get  me  away  from  this.  What  is  to  be  done? 
With  one  week  more  I  could  almost  answer  for  my  success. 
Ay,  Mademoiselle  Florry,  you  were  deeper  in  the  toils  than 
you  suspected.  The  dread  of  me  that  once  inspired  a  pain- 
ful feeling  had  grown  into  a  sort  of  self-pride  that  elevated 
her  in  her  own  esteem.  She  was  so  proud  of  her  familiarity 
with  a  wild  animal,  and  so  vain  of  her  influence  over  him! 
So  pleasant  to  say,  'See,  savage  as  he  is,  he  '11  not  turn 
upon  me  !  *  And  now  to  rise  from  the  table,  when  the  game 
is  all  but  won !  Confound  the  fellow,  how  he  has  wrecked 
my  fortunes!  As  if  I  had  not  enough,  too,  on  my  hands 
without  this !  "  And  he  walked  impatiently  to  and  fro,  like 
a  caged  animal  in  fretfulness.  "I  wanted  to  think  over 
Drayton's  letter  calmly  and  deliberately,  and  here  comes 
this  order,  this  command,  to  be  up  and  away,  —  away  from 
the  only  spot  in  which  I  can  say  I  enjoyed  an  hour's  peace 
for  years  and  years,  and  from  the  two  or  three  left  to  me, 
of  all  the  world,  who  think  it  no  shame  to  bestow  on  me  a 
word  or  a  look  of  kindness.  The  fellow  is  peremptory;  he 
declares  I  must  leave  to-day."  For  some  time  he  continued 
to  walk,  muttering  to  himself  or  moodily  silent.  At  last 
he  cried  out,  "Yes;  I  have  it!  I'll  go  up  to  Milan,  and 
cash  this  bill  of  Drayton's.     When  there  I  '11  telegraph  to 


652  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

Loyd,  which  will  show  I  have  left  the  villa.  That  done, 
I  '11  return  here,  if  it  be  but  for  a  day ;  and  who  knows 
what  a  day  will  bring  forth? 

"Who  has  commands  for  Milan?"  said  he,  gayly  enter- 
ing the  drawing-room,  where  Miss  Grainger  sat,  holding  a 
half-whispering  conversation  with  Milly. 

"Milan!  are  you  going  to  Milan?  " 

"Yes;  only  for  a  day.  A  friend  has  charged  me  with 
a  commission  that  does  not  admit  of  delay,  and  I  mean 
to  run  up  this  afternoon  and  be  down  by  dinner-time 
to-morrow." 

"I  '11  go  and  see  if  Florry  wants  anything  from  the  city," 
said  Miss  Grainger,  as  she  arose  and  left  the  room. 

"Poor  Florry!  she  is  so  distressed  by  that  letter  she 
received  this  morning.  Joseph  has  taken  it  in  such  ill  part 
that  you  should  have  been  consulted  by  Aunt  Grainger,  and 
reproaches  her  for  having  permitted  what  she  really  never 
heard  of.  Not  that,  as  she  herself  says,  she  admits  of  any 
right  on  his  part  to  limit  her  source  of  advice.  She 
thinks  that  it  is  somewhat  despotic  in  him  to  say,  'You 
shall  not  take  counsel  except  with  leave  from  me.'  She 
knows  that  this  is  the  old  vicar's  doing,  and  that  Joseph 
never  would  have  assumed  that  tone  without  being  put  up 
to  it." 

"That  is  clear  enough;  but  I  am  surprised  that  your 
sister  saw  it." 

"Oh,  she  is  not  so  deplorably  in  love  as  to  be  blinded." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


AGAIN   TO   MILAN. 


"Poor  Bob!  You  were  standing  on  that  balcony  with  a 
very  jaunty  air,  smoking  your  cuba  the  last  time  I  passed 
here,"  said  Calvert,  as  he  looked  up  at  the  windows  of  the 
Hotel  Royal  at  Milan,  while  he  drove  on  to  another  and 
less  distinguished  hotel.  He  would  have  liked  greatly  to 
put  up  at  the  Royal,  and  had  a  chat  with  its  gorgeous 
landlord  over  the  Reppinghams,  how  long  they  stayed  and 
whither  they  went,  and  how  the  young  widow  bore  up  under 
the  blow,  and  what  shape  old  Rep's  grief  assumed. 

No  squeamishness  as  to  the  terms  that  might  have  been 
used  towards  himself  would  have  prevented  his  gratifying 
this  wish.  The  obstacle  was  purely  financial.  He  had  told 
the  host,  on  leaving,  to  pay  a  thousand  francs  for  him  that 
he  had  lost  at  play,  and  it  was  by  no  means  convenient  now 
to  reimburse  him.  The  bank  had  just  closed  as  he  arrived, 
so  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  await  its  opening  the  next 
morning.  His  steps  were  then  turned  to  the  telegraph- 
office.  The  message  to  Loyd  was  in  these  words:  "Your 
letter  received.     I  am  here,  and  leave  to-morrow." 

"Of  course  the  fellow  will  understand  that  I  have  obeyed 
his  high  behest,  and  I  shall  be  back  at  Orta  in  time  to  catch 
the  post  on  its  arrival,  and  see  whether  he  has  kept  faith 
with  me  or  not.  If  there  be  no  newspapers  there  for  the 
villa,  I  may  conclude  it  is  all  right."  This  brief  matter  of 
business  over,  he  felt  like  one  who  had  no  further  occasion 
for  care.  When  he  laid  down  his  burden  he  could  straighten 
his  back ;  no  sense  of  the  late  pressure  remaining  to  remind 
him  of  the  load  that  had  pressed  so  heavily.  He  knew  this 
quality  in  himself,  and  prized  it  highly.  It  formed  part 
of  what  he  used  boastfully  to  call  his  "philosophy,"  and  he 


554  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

contrasted  it  proudly  with  the  condition  of  those  fellows 
who,  instead  of  rebounding  under  pressure,  collapsed,  and 
sunk  never  to  rise  more.  The  vanity  with  which  he  regarded 
himself  supplied  him  with  a  vindictive  dislike  to  the  world, 
who  could  suffer  a  fellow  endowed  and  gifted  as  he  was  to 
be  always  in  straits  and  difficulties.  He  mistook  —  a  very 
common  mistake,  by  the  way  —  a  capacity  to  enjoy,  for  a 
nature  deservant  of  enjoyment,  and  he  thought  it  the  great- 
est injustice  to  see  scores  of  well-off  people  who  possessed 
neither  his  own  good  constitution  nor  his  capacity  to  endure 
dissipation  uninjured.  "Wretches  not  fit  to  live,"  as  he 
said,  and  assuredly  most  unfit  to  live  the  life  which  he 
alone  prized  or  cared  for.  He  dined  somewhat  sumptuously 
at  one  of  the  great  restaurants.  "He  owed  it  to  himself,'* 
he  said,  after  all  that  dreary  cookery  of  the  villa,  to  refresh 
his  memory  of  the  pleasures  of  the  table,  and  he  ordered  a 
flask  of  Marcobrunner  that  cost  a  Napoleon. 

He  was  the  caressed  of  the  waiters,  and  escorted  to  the 
door  by  the  host.  There  is  no  supremacy  so  soon  recog- 
nized as  that  of  wealth,  and  Calvert  for  a  few  hours  gave 
himself  up  to  the  illusion  that  he  was  rich.  As  the  opera 
was  closed,  he  went  to  one  of  the  smaller  theatres,  and  sat 
out  for  a  while  one  of  those  dreariest  of  all  dreary  things, 
a  comedy  by  the  "immortal  Goldoni!  "  Immortal,  indeed, 
so  long  as  sleep  remains  an  endowment  of  humanity!  He 
tried  to  interest  himself  in  a  plot  wherein  the  indecency  was 
only  veiled  by  the  dulness,  and  where  the  language  of  the 
drawing-room  never  rose  above  the  tone  of  the  servants' 
hall,  and  left  the  place  in  disgust,  to  seek  anywhere,  or 
anyhow,   something  more   amusing  than  this. 

Without  well  knowing  how,  he  found  himself  at  the  door 
of  the  Gettone,  the  hell  he  had  visited  when  he  was  last  at 
Milan. 

"They  shall  sup  me,  at  all  events,"  said  he,  as  he 
deposited  his  hat  and  cane  in  the  ante-chamber.  The 
rooms  were  crowded,  and  it  was  some  time  before  Calvert 
could  approach  the  play-table,  and  gain  a  view  of  the  com- 
pany. He  recognized  many  of  the  former  visitors.  There 
sat  the  pretty  woman  with  the  blond  ringlets,  her  diamond- 
studded   fingers   carelessly   playing   with    the   gold   pieces 


AGAIN  TO  MILAN.  655 

before  her;  there  was  the  pale  student-like  boy  —  he  seemed 
a  mere  boy  —  with  his  dress-cravat  disordered,  and  his  hair 
dishevelled,  just  as  he  had  seen  him  last;  and  there  was  the 
old  man  whose  rouleau  had  cost  Calvert  all  his  winnings. 
He  looked  fatigued  and  exhausted,  and  seemed  as  if  drop- 
ping asleep  over  his  game,  and  yet  the  noise  was  deafening, 
—  the  clamor  of  the  players,  the  cries  of  the  croupier,  the 
clink  of  glasses,  and  the  clink  of  gold! 

''Now  to  test  the  adage  that  says  when  a  man  is  pelted 
by  all  other  ill  luck,  that  he  '11  win  at  play,"  said  Calvert,  as 
he  threw,  without  counting  them,  several  Napoleons  on  the 
table.  His  venture  was  successful,  and  so  was  another  and 
another  after  it. 

"This  is  yours,  sir,"  said  she  of  the  blond  .ringlets, 
handing  him  a  hundred- franc  piece  that  had  rolled  amongst 
her  own. 

"  Was  it  not  to  suggest  a  partnership  that  it  went  there?  " 
said  he,  smiling  courteously. 

"Who  knows?  "  said  she,  half  carelessly,  half  invitingly. 

"  Let  us  see  what  our  united  fortunes  will  do.  This  old 
man  is  dozing,  and  does  not  care  for  the  game.  Would 
you  favor  me  with  your  place,  sir,  and  take  your  rest  with 
so  much  more  comfort  on  one  of  those  luxurious  sofas 
yonder  ? " 

"  No !  "  said  the  old  man,  sternly.  "  I  have  as  much  right 
to  be  here  as  you." 

"  The  legal  right  I  am  not  going  to  dispute.  It  is  simply 
a  matter  of  expediency." 

"Do  you  mean  to  stake  all  that  gold,  sir?"  interrupted 
the   croupier,  addressing   Calvert,    who   during   this   brief 
discussion  had  suffered  his  money  to  remain  till  it  had  been  . 
doilbled  twice  over. 

"Ay,  let  it  stay  there,"  said  he,  carelessly. 

"  What  have  you  done  that  makes  you  so  lucky  ?  "  whis- 
pered  the   blond   ringlets.      "See,    you    have   broken   the/ 
bank!" 

*'  What  have  I  done,  do  you  mean  in  the  way  of  wicked- 
ness ?  "  said  he,  laughing,  as  the  croupiers  gathered  in  a 
knot  to  count  over  the  sum  to  be  paid  to  him.  "Nearly 
everything.     I  give  you  leave  to  question  me,  —  so  far  as 


656  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

your  knowledge  of  the  Decalogue  goes,  —  what  have  I  not 
done  ?  "  And  so  they  sauntered  down  the  room  side  by 
side  and  sat  down  on  a  sofa,  chatting  and  laughing  pleas- 
antly together,  till  the  croupier  came  loaded  with  gold  and 
notes  to  pay  all  Calvert's  winnings. 

"  What  was  it  the  old  fellow  muttered  as  he  passed  ?  " 
said  Calvert;  "he  spoke  in  German,  and  I  didn't  under- 
stand him." 

''It  was  something  about  a  line  in  your  forehead  that 
will  bring  you  bad  luck  yet." 

"I  have  heard  that  before,"  cried  he,  springing  hastily 
up.  "  I  wish  I  could  get  him  to  tell  me  more ;  "  and  he 
hastened  down  the  stairs  after  the  old  man;  but  when  he 
gained  the  street  he  missed  him.  He  hurried  in  vain  on 
this  side  and  that;  no  trace  of  him  remained.  "If  I  were 
given  to  the  credulous,  I  'd  say  that  was  the  fiend  in  per- 
son," muttered  Calvert,  as  he  slowly  turned  towards  his 
inn. 

He  tried  in  many  ways  to  forget  the  speech  that  troubled 
him.  He  counted  over  his  winnings;  they  were  nigh  four- 
teen thousand  francs.  He  speculated  on  all  he  might  do 
with  them ;  he  plotted  and  planned  a  dozen  roads  to  take. 
But  do  what  he  might,  the  old  man's  sinister  look  and  dark 
words  were  before  him,  and  he  could  only  lie  awake  think- 
ing over  them  till  day  broke. 

Determined  to  return  to  Orta  in  time  to  meet  the  post,  he 
drove  to  the  bank,  just  as  it  was  open  for  business,  and 
presented  his  bill  for  payment. 

"You  have  to  sign  your  name  here,"  said  a  voice  he 
thought  he  remembered,  and,  looking  up,  saw  the  old  man 
of  the  play-table. 

"Did  we  not  meet  last  night?"  whispered  Calvert,  in  a 
low  voice. 

The  other  shook  his  head  in  dissent. 

"  Yes,  I  cannot  be  mistaken ;  you  muttered  a  prediction 
in  German  as  you  passed  me,  and  I  know  what  it  meant." 

Another  shake  of  the  head  was  all  his  reply. 

''Come,  come,  be  frank  with  me;  your  secret,  if  it  be 
one,  to  visit  that  place  is  safe  with  me.  What  leads  you 
to  believe  I  am  destined  to  evil  fortune?" 


AGAIN  TO  MILAN.  65T 

"I  know  nothing  of  you!  I  want  to  know  nothing,"  said 
the  old  man,  rudely,  and  turned  to  his  books. 

"Well,  if  your  skill  in  prophecy  be  not  greater  than  in 
politeness,  I  need  not  fret  about  you,"  said  Calvert,  laugh- 
ing; and  he  went  his  way. 

With  that  superstitious  terror  that  tyrannizes  over  the 
minds  of  incredulous  men  weighing  heavily  on  his  heart,  he 
drove  back  to  Orta. 

All  his  winnings  of  the  night  before  could  not  erase  from 
his  memory  the  dark  words  of  the  old  man's  prediction. 
He  tried  to  forget,  and  then  he  tried  to  ridicule  it.  "  So 
easy,"  thought  he,  *'for  that  old  withered  mummy  to  cast 
a  shadow  on  the  path  of  a  fellow  full  of  life,  vigor,  and 
energy,  like  myself.  He  has  but  to  stand  one  second  in 
my  sunshine!  It  is,  besides,  the  compensation  that  age 
and  decrepitude  exact  for  being  no  longer  available  for  the 
triumphs  and  pleasures  of  life.  Such  were  the  sort  of  rea- 
sonings by  which  he  sought  to  console  himself,  and  then  he 
set  to  plan  out  a  future,  —  all  the  things  that  he  could,  or 
might,  or  could  not  do. 

Just  as  he  drove  into  Orta  the  post  arrived  at  the  office, 
and  he  got  out  and  entered,  as  was  his  wont,  to  obtain  his 
letters  before  the  public  distribution  had  commenced. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    LAST   WALK    IN   THE    GARDEN. 

The  only  letter  Calvert  found  at  the  post-office  for  the 
villa  was  one  in  the  vicar's  hand,  addressed  to  Miss 
Grainger.  Nothing  from  Loyd  himself,  nor  any  news- 
paper. So  far,  then,  Loyd  had  kept  his  pledge.  He 
awaited  to  see  if  Calvert  would  obey  his  injunctions  before 
he  proceeded  to  unmask  him  to  his  friends. 

Calvert  did  not  regard  this  reserve  as  anything  generous ; 
he  set  it  down  simply  to  fear.  He  said  to  himself,  "  The 
fellow  dreads  me;  he  knows  that  it  is  never  safe  to  push 
men  of  my  stamp  to  the  wall;  and  he  is  wise  enough  to 
apply  the  old  adage,  about  leaving  a  bridge  to  the  retreat- 
ing enemy.  I  shall  have  more  difficulty  in  silencing  the 
women,  however.  It  will  be  a  hard  task  to  muzzle  their 
curiosity;  but  I  must  try  some  plan  to  effect  it.  Is  that 
telegram  for  me?"  cried  he,  as  a  messenger  hastened  hither 
and  thither  in  search  for  some  one. 

"II  Signor  Grainger?" 

"Yes,  all  right,"  said  he,  taking  it.  It  was  in  these  few 
words :  — 


They  find  it  can  be  done,  —  make  tracks. 


Drayton. 


"They  find  it  can  be  done,"  muttered  he.  "Which 
means  it  is  legal  to  apprehend  me.  Well,  I  supposed  as 
much.  I  never  reckoned  on  immunity;  and  as  to  getting 
away,  I  'm  readier  for  it,  and  better  provided  too,  than  you 
think  for,  Master  Algernon.  Indeed,  I  can't  well  say  what 
infatuation  binds  me  to  this  spot,  apart  from  the  peril  that 


THE  LAST  WALK  IN  THE   GARDEN.  659 

attends  it.  I  don't  know  that  I  am  very  much  what  is 
called  in  love  with  Florence,  though  I  'd  certainly  marry 
her  if  she  'd  have  me ;  but  for  that  there  are  what  the  lady 
novelists  call  'mixed  motives,'  and  I  rather  suspect  it  is 
not  with  any  special  or  exclusive  regard  for  her  happiness 
that  I  'd  enter  into  the  holy  bonds.  I  should  like  to  con- 
sult some  competent  authority  on  the  physiology  of  hatred, 

—  why  it  is  that,  though  scores  of  fellows  have  injured  me 
deeply  in  life,  I  never  bore  any,  no,  nor  the  whole  of  them 
collectively,  the  ill-will  that  I  feel  for  that  man.  He  has 
taken  towards  me  a  tone  that  none  have  ever  dared  to  take. 
He  menaces  me !  Fifty  have  wronged,  none  have  ever  threat- 
ened me.  He  who  threatens,  assumes  to  be  your  master, 
to  dictate  the  terms  of  his  forbearance,  and  to  declare  under 
what  conditions  he  will  spare  you.  Now,  Master  Loyd, 
I  can't  say  if  this  be  a  part  to  suit  your  powers,  but  I 
know  well,  the  other  is  one  which  in  no  way  is  adapted  to 
mine.  Nature  has  endowed  me  with  a  variety  of  excellent 
qualities;  but,  somehow,  in  the  hurry  of  her  benevolence, 
she  forgot  patience!  I  suppose  one  can't  have  every- 
thing!" 

While  he  thus  mused  and  speculated,  the  boat  swept 
smoothly  over  the  lake,  and  Onofrio,  not  remarking  the 
little  attention  Calvert  vouchsafed  to  him,  went  on  talking 
of  "  I  Grangeri "  as  the  most  interesting  subject  he  could 
think  of.  At  last  Calvert's  notice  was  drawn  to  his  words 
by  hearing  how  the  old  lady  had  agreed  to  take  the  villa  for 
a  year,  with  the  power  of  continuing  to  reside  there  longer 
if  she  were  so  minded. 

The  compact  had  been  made  only  the  day  before,  after 
Calvert  had  started  for  Milan,  evidently  —  to  his  thinking 

—  showing  that  it  had  been  done  with  reference  to  some- 
thing in  Loyd's  last  letter.  "Strange  that  she  did  not  con- 
sult me  upon  it,"  thought  he;  ''I  who  have  been  her  chief 
counsellor  on  everything.  Perhaps  the  lease  of  my  confi- 
dence has  expired.  But  how  does  it  matter?  A  few  hours 
more,  and  all  these  people  shall  be  no  more  to  me  than  the 
lazy  cloud  that  is  hanging  about  the  mountain-top.  They 
may  live  or  die,  or  marry  or  mourn,  and  all  be  as  nothing 
to  me,  —  as  if  I  had  never  met  them.     And  what  shall  /  be 


560  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

to  them^  I  wonder?  "cried  he,  with  a  bitter  laugh,  — *'a  very 
dreadful  dream,  I  suppose ;  something  like  the  memory  of 
a  shipwreck,  or  a  fire  from  which  they  escaped  without  any 
consciousness  of  the  means  that  rescued  them!  A  horrid 
nightmare  whose  terrors  always  come  back  in  days  of 
depression  and  illness.  At  all  events,  I  shall  not  be  'poor 
Calvert,'  'that  much-to-be-pitied  creature,  who  really  had 
some  good  in  him.'  No,  I  shall  certainly  be  spared  all 
commiseration  of  that  kind,  and  they  '11  no  more  recur 
willingly  to  my  memory  than  they  '11  celebrate  the  anniver- 
sary of  some  day  that  brought  them  shame  and  misfortune. 

"Now,  then,  for  my  positively  last  appearance  in  my 
present  line  of  character!  And  yonder  I  see  the  old  dame 
on  the  look-out  for  me;  she  certainly  has  some  object  in 
meeting  me  before  her  nieces  shall  know  it.  —  Land  me  in 
that  nook  there,   Onofrio,  and  wait  for  me." 

"I  have  been  very  impatient  for  your  coming,"  said  she, 
as  he  stepped  on  shore;  "1  have  so  much  to  say  to  you. 
But  first  of  all  read  this,  —  it  is  from  the  vicar." 

The  letter  was  not  more  than  a  few  lines,  and  to  this 
purport:  he  was  about  to  quit  the  home  he  had  lived  in 
for  more  than  thirty  years,  and  was  so  overwhelmed  with 
sorrow  and  distress  that  he  really  could  not  address  his 
thoughts  to  any  case  but  the  sad  one  before  him.  "  'All 
these  calamities  have  fallen  upon  us  together;  for  although,* 
he  wrote,  'Joe's  departure  is  the  first  step  on  the  road  to 
future  fortune,  it  is  still  separation,  and  at  our  age  who  is 
to  say  if  we  shall  ever  see  him  again  ? '  " 

"  Skip  the  pathetic  bit,  and  come  to  this.  What  have  we 
here  about  the  P.  and  O.  steamers?  "  cried  Calvert. 

*'  'Through  the  great  kindness  of  the  Secretary  of  State, 
.Joe  has  obtained  a  free  passage  out,  —  a  favor  as  I  hear 
very  rarely  granted,  —  and  he  means  to  pay  you  a  flying 
visit;  leaving  this  on  Tuesday,  to  be  with  you  on  Saturday, 
and,  by  repairing  to  Leghorn  on  the  following  Wednesday, 
to  catch  the  packet  at  Malta.  This  will  give  him  three 
entire  days  with  you,  which,  though  they  be  stolen  from  us, 
neither  his  mother  nor  myself  have  the  heart  to  refuse  him. 
Poor  fellow,  he  tries  to  believe  —  perhaps  he  does  believe  — 
that  we  are  all  to  meet  again  in  happiness  and  comfort,  and 


THE  LAST  WALK  IN  THE  GARDEN.  561 

I  do  my  best  not  to  discourage  him ;  but  I  am  now  verging 
on  seventy  —  '  " 

"How  tiresome  he  is  about  his  old  age;  is  there  any 
more  about  his  son  ?  "  asked  Calvert,  impatiently. 

"Yes,  he  says  here:  *Joe  is,  as  you  may  imagine,  full  of 
business;  and  what  between  his  interviews  with  official 
people,  and  his  personal  cares  for  his  long  journey,  has  not 
a  moment  to  spare.  He  will,  however,  write  to-morrow, 
detailing  all  that  he  has  done  and  means  to  do.  Of  that 
late  suggestion  that  came  from  you  about  referring  us  to  a 
third  party,  neither  Joseph  nor  myself  desire  to  go  back; 
indeed,  it  is  not  at  a  moment  like  the  present  we  would 
open  a  question  that  could  imperil  the  affections  that  unite 
us.  It  is  enough  to  know  that  we  trust  each  other,  and 
need  neither  guarantees  nor  guidance.'" 

"  The  old  knave !  "  cried  Calvert.  "  A  priest  is  always  a 
Jesuit,  no  matter  what  church  he  belongs  to." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Calvert." 

"But  he  's  quite  right,  after  all.  I  am  far  too  worldly 
minded  in  my  notions  to  negotiate  with  men  of  such  exalted 
ideas  as  he  and  his  son  possess.  Besides,  I  am  suddenly 
called  away.  I  shall  have  to  leave  this  immediately.  They 
are  making  a  fuss  about  that  unfortunate  affair  at  Basle, 
and  want  to  catch  me  as  a  witness;  and  as  my  evidence 
would  damage  a  fellow  I  really  pity,  though  I  condemn,  I 
must  keep  out  of  the  way." 

"Well,  you  are  certain  to  find  us  here  whenever  you  feel 
disposed  to  have  your  own  room  again.  I  have  taken  the 
villa  for  another  year." 

Not  paying  the  slightest  attention  to  this  speech,  he  went 
on :  "  There  is  one  point  on  which  I  shall  be  absolute.  No 
one  speaks  of  me  when  I  leave  this.  Not  alone  that  you 
abstain  yourself  from  any  allusion  to  my  having  been  here, 
and  what  you  know  of  me,  but  that  you  will  not  suffer  any 
other  to  make  me  his  topic.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  a 
question  of  my  life  is  involved  in  this  request.  Barnard's 
fate  has  involved  me  in  a  web  of  calumny  and  libel  which 
I  am  resolved  to  bear  too,  to  cover  the  poor  fellow's  memory. 
If,  however,  by  any  indiscretion  of  my  friends  —  and 
remember,  it  can  only  be  of  my  friends  under  this  roof  —  I 

36 


662  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

am  driven  to  defend  myself,  there  is  no  saying  how  much 
more  blood  will  have  to  flow  in  this  quarrel.  Do  you 
understand  me?" 

"Partly,"  said  she,  trembling  all  over. 

"This  much  you  cannot  mistake,"  said  he,  sternly,  "that 
my  name  is  not  to  be  uttered,  nor  written ;  mind  that.  If, 
in  his  short  visit,  Loyd  should  speak  of  me,  stop  him  at 
once.  Say,  *Mr.  Loyd,  there  are  reasons  why  I  will  not 
discuss  that  person ;  and  I  desire  that  my  wish  be  under- 
stood as  a  command.'  You  will  impress  your  nieces  with 
the  same  reserve.  I  suppose,  if  they  hear  that  it  is  a  matter 
which  involves  the  life  of  more  than  one,  that  they  will  not 
need  to  be  twice  cautioned.  Bear  in  mind  this  is  no  caprice 
of  mine;  it  is  no  caprice  of  that  Calvert  eccentricity,  to 
which,  fairly  enough  sometimes,  you  ascribe  many  of  my 
actions.  I  am  in  a  position  of  no  common  peril;  I  have 
incurred  it  to  save  the  fair  fame  of  a  fellow  I  have  known 
and  liked  for  years.  I  mean,  too,  to  go  through  with  it; 
that  is,  I  mean  up  to  a  certain  point  to  sacrifice  myself. 
Up  to  a  certain  point,  I  say,  for  if  I  am  pushed  beyond 
that,  then  I  shall  declare  to  the  world :  Upon  you  and  your 
slanderous  tongues  be  the  blame,  not  mine  the  fault  for 
what  is  to  happen  now.'*^ 

He  uttered  these  words  with  a  rapidity  and  vehemence 
that  made  her  tremble  from  head  to  foot.  This  was  not, 
besides,  the  first  time  she  had  witnessed  one  of  those  pas- 
sionate outbursts  for  which  his  race  was  celebrated,  and  it 
needed  no  oath  to  confirm  the  menace  his  speech  shadowed 
forth. 

"This  is  a  pledge,  then,"  said  he,  grasping  her  hand. 
"And  now  to  talk  of  something  pleasanter.  That  old  uncle 
of  mine  has  behaved  very  handsomely;  has  sent  me  some 
kind  messages,  and,  what  is  as  much  to  the  purpose,  some 
money ;  "  and,  as  he  spoke,  he  carelessly  drew  from  his 
pocket  a  roll  of  the  bank-notes  he  had  so  lately  won  at 
play.  "  'Before  making  any  attempt  to  re-enter  the  ser- 
vice,' he  says,  *you  must  keep  out  of  the  way  for  a  while.' 
And  he  is  right  there;  the  advice  is  excellent,  and  I  mean 
to  follow  it.  In  his  postscript  he  adds:  'Thank  Grainger  ' 
—  he  means  Miss  Grainger;  but  you  know  how  blunderingly 


THE  LAST  WALK  IN  THE  GARDEN.  663 

he  writes  —  'for  all  her  kindness  to  you,  and  say  how  glad 
we  should  all  be  to  see  her  at  Rocksley  whenever  she  comes 
next  to  England. '  " 

The  old  lady's  face  grew  crimson;  shame  at  first,  and 
pride  afterwards,  overwhelming  her.  To  be  called  Grainger 
was  to  bring  her  back  at  once  to  the  old  days  of  servitude 
—  that  dreary  life  of  nursery  governess  —  which  had  left  its 
dark  shadow  on  all  her  later  years ;  while  to  be  the  guest 
at  Rocksley  was  a  triumph  she  had  never  imagined  in  her 
vainest  moments. 

*'0h,  will  you  tell  him  how  proud  I  am  of  his  kind 
remembrance  of  me,  and  what  an  honor  I  should  feel  it  to 
pay  my  respects  to  him  ?  " 

"They  '11  make  much  of  you,  I  promise  you,"  said  Cal- 
vert, "  when  they  catch  you  at  Rocksley,  and  you  '11  not  get 
away  in  a  hurry.  Now  let  us  go  our  separate  ways,  lest 
the  girls  suspect  we  have  been  plotting.  I  '11  take  the  boat 
and  row  down  to  the  steps.  Don't  forget  all  I  have  been 
saying,"  were  his  last  words  as  the  boat  moved  away. 

"I  hope  I  have  bound  that  old  fool  in  heavy  recogniz- 
ances to  keep  her  tongue  quiet;  and  now  for  the  more  diffi- 
cult task  of  the  young  ones,"  said  he,  as  he  stretched 
himself  full  length  in  the  boat,  like  one  wearied  by  some 
effort  that  taxed  his  strength.  "I  begin  to  believe  it  will 
be  a  relief  to  me  to  get  away  from  this  place,"  he  muttered 
to  himself;  "though  I'd  give  my  right  hand  to  pass  the 
next  week  here,  and  spoil  the  happiness  of  those  fond 
lovers.  Could  I  not  do  it?  "  Here  was  a  problem  that 
occupied  him  till  he  reached  the  landing  at  the  villa ;  but 
as  he  stepped  on  shore,  he  cried,  "No,  this  must  be  the  last 
time  I  shall  ever  mount  these  steps !  " 

Calvert  passed  the  day  in  his  room ;  he  had  much  to  think 
over,  and  several  letters  to  write.  Though  the  next  step  he 
was  to  take  in  life  in  all  probability  involved  his  whole 
future  career,  his  mind  was  diverted  from  it  by  the  thought 
that  this  was  to  be  his  last  night  at  the  villa ;  the  last  time 
he  should  ever  see  Florence.  "Ay,"  thought  he,  "Loyd 
will  be  the  occupant  of  this  room  in  a  day  or  two  more.  I 
can  fancy  the  playful  tap  at  this  door,  as  Milly  goes  down 
to  breakfast ;  I  can  picture  the  lazy  fool  leaning  out  of  that 


564  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

window,  gazing  at  those  small  snow-peaks,  while  Florence 
is  waiting  for  him  in  the  garden.  I  know  well  all  the  little 
graceful  attentions  that  will  be  prepared  for  him,  vulgar 
dog  as  he  is,  who  will  not  even  recognize  the  special  cour- 
tesies that  have  been  designed  for  him;  well,  if  I  be  not 
sorely  mistaken,  I  have  dropped  some  poison  in  his  cup. 
I  have  taught  Florence  to  feel  that  courage  is  the  first  of 
manly  attributes,  and,  what  is  more  to  the  purpose,  to  have 
a  sort  of  half  dread  that  it  is  not  amongst  her  lover's  gifts. 
I  have  left  her  as  my  last  legacy  that  rankling  doubt,  and  I 
defy  her  to  tear  it  out  of  her  heart!  What  a  sovereign 
antidote  to  all  romance  it  is,  to  have  the  conviction,  or,  if 
not  the  conviction,  the  impression,  the  mere  suspicion,  that 
he  who  spouts  the  fine  sentiments  of  the  poet  with  such 
hearfelt  ardor,  is  a  poltroon,  ready  to  run  from  danger,  and 
hide  himself  at  the  approach  of  peril.  I  have  made  Milly 
believe  this,  — she  has  no  doubt  of  it;  so  that  if  sisterly 
confidences  broach  the  theme,  Florence  will  find  all  her 
worst  fears  confirmed.  The  thoughts  of  this  fellow  as  my 
rival  maddens  me !  "  cried  he,  as  he  started  up  and  paced 
the  room  impatiently.  "Is  not  that  Florence  I  see  in  the 
garden?  Alone,  too!  What  a  chance!"  In  a  moment  he 
hastened  noiselessly  down  the  stairs,  opened  the  drawing- 
room  window,  and  was  beside  her. 

"I  hope  the  bad  news  they  tell  me  is  not  true,"  she  said, 
as  they  walked  along  side  by  side. 

"What  is  the  bad  news?  " 

"That  you  are  going  to  leave  us." 

"And  are  you  such  a  hypocrite,  Florry,  as  to  call  this 
bad  news,  when  you  and  I  both  know  how  little  I  shall  be 
needed  here  in  a  day  or  two?  We  are  not  to  have  many 
more  moments  together;  these  are  probably  the  very  last  of 
them :  let  us  be  frank  and  honest.  I  'm  not  surely  asking 
too  much  in  that!  For  many  a  day  you  have  sealed  up  my 
lips  by  the  threat  of  not  speaking  to  me  on  the  morrow. 
Your  menace  has  been,  if  you  repeat  this  language,  I  will 
not  walk  with  you  again.  Now,  Florry,  this  threat  has 
lost  its  terror,  for  to-morrow  I  shall  be  gone,  —  gone  for- 
ever, and  so  to-day,  here  now,  I  say  once  more,  I  love  you! 
How  useless  to  tell  me  that  it  is  all  in  vain ;  that  you  do 


THE  LAST  WALK  IN  THE  GARDEN.  565 

not,  cannot  return  my  affection.  I  tell  you  that  I  can  no 
more  despair  than  I  can  cease  to  love  you !  In  the  force  of 
that  love  I  bear  you  is  my  confidence.  I  have  the  same 
trust  in  it  that  I  would  have  in  my  courage." 

"If  you  but  knew  the  pain  you  gave  me  by  such  words 
as  these  —  " 

"If  you  knew  the  pain  they  cost  me  to  utter  them!" 
cried  he.  "It  is  bringing  a  proud  heart  very  low  to  sue  as 
humbly  as  I  do.  And  for  what?  Simply  for  time,  —  only 
time.  All  I  ask  is,  do  not  utterly  reject  one  who  only 
needs  your  love  to  be  worthy  of  it.  When  I  think  of  what 
I  was  when  I  met  you  first  —  you !  —  and  feel  the  change 
you  have  wrought  in  my  whole  nature;  how  you  have 
planted  truthfulness  where  there  was  once  but  doubt,  how 
you  have  made  hope  succeed  a  dark  and  listless  indiffer- 
ence; when  I  know  and  feel  that  in  my  struggle  to  be 
better  it  is  you,  and  you  alone,  are  the  prize  before  me, 
and  that  if  that  be  withdrawn,  life  has  no  longer  a  bribe  to 
my  ambition,  —  when  I  think  of  these,  Florry,  can  you 
wonder  if  I  want  to  carry  away  with  me  some  small  spark 
that  may  keep  the  embers  alive  in  my  heart?" 

"It  is  not  generous  to  urge  me  thus,"  said  she,  in  a  faint 
voice. 

"The  grasp  of  the  drowning  man  has  little  time  for 
generosity.  You  may  not  care  to  rescue  me,  but  you  may 
have  pity  for  my  fate." 

"Oh,  if  you  but  knew  how  sorry  I  am  —  " 

"Go  on,  dearest.     Sorry  for  what?" 

"I  don't  know  what  I  was  going  to  say;  you  have 
agitated  and  confused  me  so,  that  I  feel  bewildered.  I 
shrink  from  saying  what  would  pain  you,  and  yet  I  want  to 
be  honest  and  straightforward." 

"If  you  mean  that  to  be  like  the  warning  of  the  surgeon, 
—  I  must  cut  deep  to  cure  you,  —  I  can't  say  I  have  courage 
for  it." 

For  some  minutes  they  walked  on  side  by  side  without  a 
word.  At  length  he  said,  in  a  grave  and  serious  tone,  "I 
have  asked  your  aunt,  and  she  has  promised  me  that, 
except  strictly  amongst  yourselves,  my  name  is  not  to  be 
mentioned  when  I  leave  this.    She  will,  if  you  care  for  them, 


566     V  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 


give  you  my  reason ;  and  I  only  advert  to  it  now  amongst 
other  last  requests.     This  is  a  promise,  is  it  not  ?  " 

She  pressed  his  hand  and  nodded. 

*'Will  you  now  grant  me  one  favor?  Wear  this  ring  for 
my  sake,  —  a  token  of  mere  memory,  no  more !  Nay,  I 
mean  to  ask  Milly  to  wear  another.  Don't  refuse  me." 
He  drew  her  hand  towards  him  as  he  spoke,  and  slipped  a 
rich  turquoise  ring  upon  her  finger.  Although  her  hand 
trembled,  and  she  averted  her  head,  she  had  no  courage  to 
say  him  no. 

"You  have  not  told  us  where  you  are  going  to,  nor  when 
we  are  to  hear  from  you!  "  said  she,  after  a  moment. 

"I  don't  think  I  know,  either!  "  said  he,  in  his  usual  reck- 
less way.  "I  have  half  a  mind  to  join  Schamyl,  —  I  know 
him,  —  or  take  turn  with  the  Arabs  against  the  French.  I 
suppose,"  added  he,  with  a  bitter  smile,  "it  is  my  fate 
always  to  be  on  the  beaten  side,  and  I  'd  not  know  how  to 
comport  myself  as  a  winner." 

"There  's  Milly  making  a  signal  to  us.  Is  it  dinner-time 
already?"  said  she. 

"Ay,  my  last  dinner  here!  "  he  muttered.  She  turned 
her  head  away,  and  did  not  speak. 

On  that  last  evening  at  the  villa  nothing  very  eventful 
occurred.  All  that  need  be  recorded  will  be  found  in  the 
following  letter,  which  Calvert  wrote  to  his  friend  Drayton, 
after  he  had  wished  his  hosts  a  good-night,  and  gained  his 
room,  retiring,  as  he  did,  early,  to  be  up  betimes  in  the 
morning  and  catch  the  first  train  for  Milan. 

Dear  Drayton,  —  I  got  your  telegram,  and  though  T  suspect 
you  are  astray  in  your  "  law,"  and  don't  believe  these  fellows  can 
touch  me,  I  don't  intend  to  open  the  question,  or  reserve  the  point 
for  the  twelve  judges,  but  mean  to  evacute  Flanders  at  once ;  indeed, 
my  chief  difficulty  was  to  decide  which  way  to  turn,  for  having  the 
whole  world  before  me  where  to  choose,  left  me  in  that  indecision 
which  the  poet  pronounces  national  when  he  says,  — 

"  I  am  an  Englishman,  and  naked  I  stand  here, 
Musing  in  mj  mind  what  raiment  I  shall  wear !  " 

Chance,  however,  has  done   for  me  what  my  judgment  could  not. 


THE  LAST  WALK  IN  THE   GARDEN.  567 

I  have  been  up  to  Milan  and  had  a  look  through  the  newspapers, 
and  I  see  what  I  have  often  predicted  has  happened.  The  Rajahs 
of  Bengal  have  got  sick  of  their  benefactors,  and  are  bent  on 
getting  rid  of  what  we  love  to  call  the  blessings  of  the  English 
rule  in  India.  Next  to  a  society  for  the  suppression  of  creditors, 
I  know  of  no  movement  which  could  more  thoroughly  secure  my 
sympathy.  The  brown  skin  is  right.  What  has  he  to  do  with 
those  covenanted  and  uncovenanted  Scotchmen  who  want  to  enrich 
themselves  by  bullying  him  ?  What  need  has  he  of  governors- 
general,  political  residents,  collectors,  and  commanders-in-chief? 
Could  he  not  raise  his  indigo,  water  his  rice-fields,  and  burn  his 
widow,  without  any  help  of  ours  ?  —  particularly  as  our  help  takes 
the  shape  of  taxation  and  vexatious  interference. 

1  suppose  all  these  are  very  unpatriotic  sentiments;  but  in  the 
same  proportion  that  Britons  never  will  be  slaves,  they  certainly 
have  no  objection  to  make  others  such,  and  I  shudder  in  the  very 
marrow  of  my  morality  to  think  that  but  for  the  accident  of  an 
accident  I  might  at  this  very  moment  have  been  employed  to  assist 
in  repressing  the  noble  aspirations  of  niggerhood,  and  helping  to 
stifle  the  cry  of  freedom  that  now  resounds  from  the  Sutlej  to  the 
Ganges.  Is  not  that  a  twang  from  your  own  lyre,  Master  D.  ? 
Could  Our  Own  Correspondent  have  come  it  stronger? 

Happily,  her  Majesty  has  no  further  occasion  for  my  services, 
and  I  can  take  a  brief  on  the  other  side.  Expect  to  hear,  there- 
fore, in  some  mysterious  paragraph,  "  That  the  mode  in  which  the 
cavalry  were  led,  or  the  guns  pointed,  plainly  indicated  that  a 
European  soldier  held  command  on  this  occasion ;  and,  indeed,  some 
assert  that  an  English  officer  was  seen  directing  the  movements  on 

our  flank."     To  which  let  me  add  the  hope  that  the Fusiliers 

may  be  there  to  see ;  and  if  I  do  not  give  the  major  a  lesson  in 
battalion  drill,  call  me  a  Dutchman !  There  is  every  reason  why  the 
revolt  should  succeed.  I  put  aside  all  the  bosh  about  an  enslaved 
race  and  a  just  cause,  and  come  to  the  fact  of  the  numerical  odds 
opposed ;  the  climate,  intolerable  to  one,  and  easily  borne  by  the 
other ;  the  distance  from  which  reinforcements  must  come ;  and, 
last  of  all,  the  certainty  that  if  the  struggle  only  last  long  enough 
to  figure  in  two  budgets,  John  Bull  will  vote  it  a  bore,  and  refuse 
to  pay  for  it.  But  here  am  I  getting  political  when  I  only  meant 
to  be  personal;  and  now  to  come  back,  I  own  that  my  resolve  to 
go  out  to  India  has  been  aided  by  hearing  that  Lord,  of  whom  I 
spoke  in  my  last,  is  to  leave  by  the  next  mail  and  will  take  passage 
on  board  the  P.  and  O.  steamer  "  Leander,"  due  at  Malta  on  the 
22d.  My  intention  is  to  be  his  fellow-traveller,  and  with  this 
resolve  T  shall  take  the  Austrian  steamer  to  Corfu,  and  come  up  with 
my  friend  at  Alexandria.     You  will  perhaps  be  puzzled  to  know 


568  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

•why  the  claims  of  friendship  are  so  strong  upon  me  at  such  a 
moment,  and  I  satisfy  your  most  natural  curiosity  by  stating  that 
this  is  a  mission  of  torture.  I  travel  with  this  man  to  insult  and  to 
outrage  him ;  to  expose  him  in  public  places,  and  to  confront  him 
at  all  times.  I  mean  that  this  overland  journey  should  be  to  him 
for  his  life  long  the  reminiscence  of  a  pilgrimage  of  such  martyrdom 
as  few  have  passed  through ;  and  I  have  the  vanity  to  believe 
that  not  many  men  have  higher  or  more  varied  gifts  for  such  a 
mission  than  myself.  My  first  task  on  reaching  Calcutta  shall  be  to 
report  progress  to  you. 

I  don't  mind  exposing  a  weakness  to  an  old  friend,  and  so  I 
own  to  you  I  fell  in  love  here.  The  girl  had  the  obduracy  and 
wrong-headedness  not  to  yield  to  my  suit,  and  so  I  had  no  choice  left 
to  me  but  to  persist  in  it.  I  know,  however,  that  if  I  could  only  re- 
main here  a  fortnight  longer  I  should  secure  the  inestimable  triumph 
of  rendering  both  of  us  miserable  for  life !  Yes,  Drayton,  that  pale 
girl  and  her  paltry  fifteen  thousand  pounds  might  have  spoiled 
one  of  the  grandest  careers  that  ever  adorned  history  !  and  lost  the 
world  the  marvellous  origin,  rise,  progress,  and  completion  of  the 
dynasty  of  the  great  English  Begum  Calvert  in  Bengal.  Count 
upon  me  for  high  office  whenever  penny-a-lining  fails  you,  and,  if 
my  realm  be  taxable,  you  shall  be  my  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  I 

You  are  right  about  that  business  at  Basle ;  to  keep  up  a 
controversy  would  be  to  invest  it  with  more  interest  for  public 
gossip.  Drop  it,  therefore,  and  the  world  will  drop  it ;  and  take 
my  word  for  it,  I  '11  give  them  something  more  to  say  of  me,  one  of 
these  days,  than  that  my  hair  trigger  was  too  sensitive  1  I  'm  writing 
this  in  the  most  romantic  of  spots.  The  moonlight  is  sleeping  — 
is  n't  that  the  conventional  ?  —  over  the  olive  plain,  and  the  small 
silvery  leaves  are  glittering  in  its  pale  light.  Up  the  great  Alps, 
amongst  the  deep  crevasses,  a  fitful  flashing  of  lightning  promises 
heat  for  the  morrow;  a  nightingale  sings  close  to  my  window; 
and  through  the  muslin  curtain  of  another  casement  I  can  see  a 
figure  pass  and  repass,  and  even  distinguish  that  her  long  hair 
has  fallen  down,  and  floats  loosely  over  neck  and  shoulders.  How 
pleasantly  I  might  linger  on  here,  ''My  duns  forgetting,  by  my 
duns  forgot."  How  smoothly  I  might  float  down  the  stream  of  life, 
without  even  having  to  pull  an  oar !  How  delightfully  domestic 
and  innocent  and  inglorious  the  whole  thing !  Is  n't  it  tempting, 
vou  dog?  Does  it  not  touch  even  pour  temperament  through  its 
thick  hide  of  worldliness?  And  I  believe  in  my  heart  it  is  all 
feasible,  all  to  be  done. 

I  have  just  tossed  up  for  it.  Head  for  India,  and  head  it  is  ! 
So  that  Loyd  is  booked  for  a  pleasant  journey,  and  I  start  to- 
morrow to  insure  him  all  the  happiness  in   my  power  to   confer. 


THE  LAST  WALK  IN  THE   GARDEN.  669 

For  the  present,  it  would  be  as  well  to  tell  all  anxious  and  inquiring 
friends,  into  which  category  come  tailors,  bootmakers,  jewellers,  etc., 
that  it  will  be  a  postal  economy  not  to  address  Mr.  Harry  Calvert 
in  any  European  capital,  and  to  let  the  "  bills  lie  on  the  table,"  and 
be  read  this  day  six  years  ;  but  add  that  if  properly  treated  by 
fortune,  I  mean  to  acquit  my  debts  to  them  one  of  these  days. 

That  I  "  wish  they  may  get  it "  is,  therefore,  no  scornful  or 
derisive  hope  of  your  friend, 

H.  Calvert. 

If  —  not  a  likely  matter  —  anything  occurs  worth  mention,  you 
shall  have  a  line  from  me  from  Venice. 

When  he  had  concluded  his  letter,  he  extinguished  his 
candles,  and  sat  down  at  the  open  window.  The  moon  had 
gone  down,  and,  though  starlit,  the  night  was  dark.  The 
window  in  the  other  wing  of  the  villa,  at  which  he  had  seen 
the  figure  through  the  curtain,  was  now  thrown  open,  and  he 
could  see  that  Florence,  with  a  shawl  wrapped  round  her, 
was  leaning  out,  and  talking  to  some  one  in  the  garden 
underneath. 

"It  is  the  first  time,"  said  a  voice  he  knew  to  be  Milly's, 
"that  I  ever  made  a  bouquet  in  the  dark." 

"Come  up,  Milly  dearest;  the  dew  is  falling  heavily. 
I  feel  it  even  here." 

"I  '11  just  fasten  this  rose  I  have  here  in  his  hat;  he  saw 
it  in  my  hair  to-night,  and  he  Tl  remember  it." 

She  left  the  garden ;  the  window  was  closed.  The  light 
was  put  out,  and  all  was  silent. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

sisters'   confidences. 

The  day  of  Calvert's  departure  was  a  very  sad  one  at  the 
villa ;  so  was  the  next  and  the  next !  It  is  impossible  to 
repeat  the  routine  of  a  quiet  life  when  we  have  lost  one 
whose  pleasant  companionship  imparted  to  the  hours  a 
something  of  his  own  identity,  without  feeling  the  dreary 
blank  his  absence  leaves,  and,  together  with  this,  comes 
the  not  very  flattering  conviction  of  how  little  of  our 
enjoyment  we  owed  to  our  own  efforts,  and  how  much 
to  his. 

"  I  never  thought  we  should  have  missed  him  so  much," 
said  Milly,  as  she  sat  with  her  sister  beside  the  lake,  where 
the  oars  lay  along  the  boat  unused,  and  the  fishing-net  hung 
to  dry  from  the  branches  of  the  mulberry-tree. 

"Of  course  we  miss  him,"  said  Florence,  peevishly. 
"  You  don't  live  in  daily,  hourly  intercourse  with  a  person 
without  feeling  his  absence ;  but  I  almost  think  it  is  a 
relief,"  said  she,  slightly  flushing. 

"  A  relief,  Florry !     And  in  what  way?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  — that  is,  I'm  not  disposed  to  go  into  a 
nice  analysis  of  Mr.  Calvert's  mind,  and  the  effect  produced 
upon  my  own,  by  the  mere  iteration  of  things  I  never  agreed 
with.  Besides,  I  don't  want  in  the  least  to  limit  your  regrets 
for  him.     He  was  one  of  your  favorites." 

' '  I  always  thought  him  more  a  favorite  of  yours  than 
mine,  Florry." 

"  Then  I  suspect  you  made  a  great  mistake;  but,  really, 
I  think  we  might  talk  of  something  else.  What  about 
those  hyacinths,  —  did  n't  you  tell  me  they  ought  to  be 
moved?" 


SISTERS'  CONFIDENCES.  571 

*'  Yes,  Harry  said  they  had  too  much  sun  there,  and  were 
losing  color  in  consequence." 

"  I  can't  imagine  him  a  great  authority  in  gardening." 

''  Well,  but  he  really  knew  a  great  deal  about  it,  and  had 
an  exquisite  taste  in  the  landscape  part  of  it,  —  witness  that 
little  plant  under  your  window." 

"The  fuchsias  are  pretty,"  said  she,  with  a  saucy  air. 
**  Is  n't  the  post  late  to-day?  " 

''  It  came  two  hours  ago.  Don't  you  remember  my  saying 
there  were  no  letters,  except  two  for  Harry?  " 

"  And  where  are  you  to  forward  them  to  him?  Has  he 
been  confidentidl  enough  to  tell  you  ?  " 

''  No ;  he  said,  '  If  anything  comes  for  me,  keep  it  till  you 
bear  of  me.'  " 

''  He  affected  mystery.  I  think  he  imagined  it  gave 
something  of  romance  to  him,  though  a  more  prosaic, 
worldly  character  never  existed." 

* '  I  don't  agree  with  you,  Florry.  I  think  it  was  the 
worldlin^ss  was  the  affectation.  .    - 

Florence  colored  deeply,  but  made  no  reply. 

''  And  I  '11  tell  you  why  I  am  convinced  of  it.  In  the 
mention  of  anything  heroic  or  daring,  or  in  allusion  to  any 
trait  of  deep  devotion  or  pathetic  tenderness,  his  lip  would 
tremble  and  his  voice  falter,  and  then,  catching  himself, 
and  evidently  ashamed  of  his  weakness,  he  would  Come 
out  with  some  silly,  or  even  heartless  remark,  as  though 
to  mask  his  confusion  and  give  him  time  to  recover 
himself." 

"I  never  noticed  this,"  said  Florence,  coldly.  "Indeed, 
I  must  confess  to  a  much  less  critical  study  of  his  character 
than  you  have  bestowed  on  him." 

"  You  are  unjust  to  yourself.  It  was  you  first  pointed 
out  this  trait  in  him  to  me." 

"  I  forget  it,  then,  that 's  all,"  said  she,  captiously. 

"  Oh,  I  knew  he  was  ashamed  of  being  thought  romantic." 

"  I  thought  I  had  asked  you  to  talk  of  something  or 
somebody  else,  Milly.  Let  us,  at  least,  select  a  topic 
we  can  think  and  speak  on  with  some  approach  to 
agreement." 

Accustomed  to  bear  with  Florence's  impatience  and  her 


572  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

capricious  humors  as  those  of  an  invalid,  Milly  made 
no  answer,  but  drew  out  her  work  from  a  basket  and 
prepared  to  begin. 

''You  needn't  hope  to  make  much  progress  with  your 
embroidery,  Milly.  You  '11  have  no  one  to  read  out  the 
'Faust'  or  the  'Winter  Night's  Tale'  to-day." 

"Ah,  that's  true,  and  Joseph  won't  be  here  till  Satur- 
day," said  she,  sighing;  "not  to  say  that  I  don't  suspect 
he'll  have  much  time  to  bestow  on  reading  aloud." 

"I  thought  you  were  going  to  say  that  he  reads  badly," 
said  Florry,  with  a  forced  laugh. 

"  Oh,  no,  Florry,  I  like  his  reading  very  much  indeed,  — 
particularly  of  Tennyson  and  Browning." 

"  It  is  not  so  melodramatic  as  your  friend  Mr.  Calvert's; 
but,  in  my  poor  estimation,  it  is  in  much  truer  taste." 

"  What  a  strange  girl  you  are  !  Do  you  forget  the  evening 
you  said,  '  I  '11  not  let  Joseph  read  aloud  any  more  ;  I  detest 
to  see  him  in  any  rivalry  of  which  he  has  the  worst '  ?  " 

"  I  must  have  said  it  in  mockery,  then,  Milly,  for  I  know 
of  nothing  in  which  Mr.  Calvert  could  claim  superiority  over 
him.  I  am  aware  this  is  not  your  opinion,  Milly ;  indeed, 
poor  Joseph  has  not  many  allies  in  this  house,  for  even 
Aunt  Grainger  was  one  of  the  fascinated  by  our  captivating 
guest." 

"  Well,  but  you  know,  dearest  Florry,  what  a  magic  there 
is  in  the  name  Calvert  to  my  aunt." 

"Yes,  I  know  and  deplore  it.  I  believe,  too,  from 
chance  expressions  she  has  let  drop,  that  her  relations  with 
those  very  people  suggest  anything  rather  than  proud  or 
pleasant  memories :  but  she  is  determined  to  think  of  them 
as  friends,  and  is  quite  vain  at  having  the  permission  to 
do  so." 

"Even  Harry  used  to  smile  at  her  reverence  for  'dear 
old  Rocksley.' " 

"  The  worse  taste  in  him,"  said  Florence,  haughtily. 

"  How  bitter  you  are  to  the  poor  fellow,"  said  the  other, 
plaintively. 

"  I  am  not  bitter  to  him.  I  think  him  a  very  accom- 
plished, clever,  amusing  person,  good-looking,  manly,  and 
so  forth ;  and  probably,  if  he  had  n't   persecuted  me  with 


SISTERS*  CONFIDENCES.  673 

attentions  that  I  did  not  like  or  encourage,  I  might  have  felt 
very  cordially  towards  him." 

"  Could  he  help  being  in  love  with  you,  Florry?  " 

''In  love!"  repeated  she,  in  a  voice  of  mockery  and 
scorn. 

''Ay,  Florry,  I  never  saw  a  man  more  thoroughly,  devo- 
tedly in  love.  I  could  tell,  as  I  entered  the  breakfast-room, 
whether  you  had  spoken  to  him  in  coldness  or  the  reverse. 
His  voice,  as  he  read  aloud,  would  betray  whether  you  were 
listening  with  pleasure  or  indifference.  You  had  not  a  mood 
of  gay  or  grave  that  was  not  reflected  in  his  face ;  and  one 
day  I  remember,  when  I  remarked  on  the  capricious  changes 
of  his  spirits,  he  said,  '  Don't  blame  me ;  I  am  what  she 
makes  me  :  the  happiest  or  the  most  miserable  fellow  breath- 
ing.' '  Well,'  replied  I,  '  I  fancied  from  your  good  spirits  it 
was  some  pleasant  tidings  the  post  had  brought  you.'  '  No,' 
said  he,  '  it  was  this ;  '  and  he  drew  a  violet  from  his  pocket, 
and  showed  it  to  me.     I  suppose  you  had  given  it  to  him." 

"  I  dropped  it,  and  he  would  n't  give  it  back.  I  remember 
the  day."  And,  as  she  spoke,  she  turned  her  head  aside, 
but  her  sister  saw  that  her  cheek  was  crimson.  Then  sud- 
denly she  said,  "  How  was  it  that  you  had  such  confidences 
together ?  I'm  sure  that,  knowing  my  engagement,  you 
must  have  seen  how  improper  it  was  to  listen  to  such 
nonsense  on  his  part." 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  Florry;  the  poor  fellow  would  come 
to  me  with  his  heart  almost  breaking.  I  declare,  there  were 
times  when  his  despair  actually  terrified  me ;  and  having 
heard  from  Aunt  Grainger  what  dreadful  passions  these 
Calverts  give  way  to,  —  how  reckless  of  consequences,  —  " 

"  There,  there,  dear,  spare  me  that  physiology  of  the  race 
of  Calverts,  of  which  I  have  gone  through,  I  hope,  every 
imaginable  feature.  To  poor  Aunt  Grainger's  eyes  the 
dragon  of  the  Drachenfels  is  a  mild  domestic  creature  in 
comparison  with  one  of  them."  There  was  a  jarring  vibra- 
tion in  her  sister's  tone  that  told  it  were  safer  not  to  pro- 
long the  discussion,  and  little  more  was  said  as  they  walked 
towards  the  house.  At  last  Florence  stopped  short,  and, 
pointing  to  the  window  of  the  room  lately  occupied  by  Cal- 
vert, said,  "Joseph  will  dislike  all  those  climbing  creepers 


574  A  RENT  IN   A  CLOUD. 

there,  Milly ;  he  hates  that  sort  of  thing.  Let  them  be  cut 
away." 

'*  If  you  wish  it,  dearest;  but  is  it  not  a  pity?  Only 
think  of  all  the  time  and  pains  it  cost  to  train  that 
jessamine  —  " 

''  Oh,  if  they  have  such  tender  memories  for  you,  let  them 
remain  by  all  means ;  but  I  think  it  will  be  quite  as  well  not 
to  tell  Joseph  the  reasons  for  which  they  were  spared." 

Though  the  speech  was  uttered  in  irritation,  Milly  affected 
to  hear  it  without  emotion,  and  said,  "  It  was  Harry's  own 
desire  that  we  should  not  speak  of  him  to  Joseph,  and  I 
mean  to  obey  it." 


CHAPTER  XVI.  . 

A  lovers'  quarrel. 

In  course  of  time,  Loyd  arrived  at  the  villa.  He"  came 
tired  and  worn  out  by  a  fatiguing  journey.  There  had 
been  floods,  broken  bridges,  and  bad  roads  in  Savoy,  and 
the  St.  Gothard  was  almost  impassable  from  a  heavy  snow- 
storm. The  difficulties  of  the  road  had  lost  him  a  day,  one 
of  the  very  few  he  was  to  have  with  them,  and  he  came, 
wearied  and  somewhat  irritated,  to  his  journey's  end. 

Lovers  ought,  perhaps,  to  be  more  thoughtful  about 
"effect "than  they  are  in  real  life.  They  might  take  a 
lesson  in  this  respect  with  good  profit  from  the  drama, 
where  they  enter  with  all  the  aids  that  situation  and  costume 
can  give  them.  At  all  events,  Calvert  would  scarcely  have 
presented  himself  in  the  jaded  and  disordered  condition  in 
which  Loyd  now  appeared. 

*'  How  ill  he  looks,  poor  fellow,"  said  Milly,  as  the  two 
sisters  left  him  to  dress  for  dinner. 

''I  should  think  he  may  look  ill.  Fancy  his  travelling 
on,  night  and  day,  through  rain  and  sleet  and  snow,  and 
always  feeling  that  his  few  hours  here  were  to  be  shortened 
by  all  these  disasters.  And,  besides  all  this,  he  is  sorry 
now  for  the  step  he  has  taken;  he  begins  to  suspect  he 
ought  not  to  have  left  England ;  that  this  separation  —  it 
must  be  for  at  least  two  years  —  bodes  ill  to  us ;  that  it 
need  not  have  been  longer  had  he  stayed  at  the  home  bar, 
and  had,  besides,  the  opportunity  of  coming  out  to  see  us 
in  Vacation ;  that  it  was  his  friends  who  over-persuaded 
him ;  and  now  that  he  has  had  a  little  time  for  calm  reflec- 
tion, away  from  them,  he  really  sees  no  obstacles  to  his 
success  at  Westminster  that  he  will  not  have  to  encounter 
at  Calcutta." 

"And  will  he  persist,  in  face  of  this  conviction?" 


676  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

"Of  course  he  will!  He  cannot  exhibit  himself  to  the 
world  as  a  creature  who  does  not  know  his  own  mind  for 
two  days  together." 

"Is  that  of  more  consequence  than  what  would  really 
serve  his  interests,  Florry  ?  " 

"  I  am  no  casuist,  Milly,  but  I  think  that  the  impression 
a  man  makes  by  his  character  for  resolution  is  always  of 
consequence." 

Milly  very  soon  saw  that  her  sister  spoke  with  an  unusual 
degree  of  irritation.  The  arrival  of  her  lover  had  not  over- 
joyed her ;  it  had  scarcely  cheered  her.  He  came,  too,  not 
full  of  high  hopes  and  animated  by  the  prospect  of  a  bright 
future,  speculating  on  the  happy  days  that  were  before 
them,  and  even  fixing  the  time  they  were  to  meet  again,  but 
depressed  and  dispirited,  darkl}^  hinting  at  all  the  dangers 
of  absence,  and  gloomily  telling  over  the  long  miles  of  ocean 
that  were  so  soon  to  roll  between  them. 

Now,  Florence  was  scarcely  prepared  for  all  this.  She 
bad  expected  to  be  comforted,  and  supported,  and  encour- 
aged ;  and  yet  from  herself,  now,  all  the  encouragement 
and  all  the  support  was  to  be  derived !  She  was  to  infuse 
hope,  to  supply  courage,  and  inspire  determination.  He 
was  only  there  to  be  sustained  and  supported.  It  is  true 
she  knew  nothing  of  the  trials  and  difficulties  which  were 
before  him,  and  she  could  neither  discuss  nor  lighten  them; 
but  she  could  talk  of  India  as  a  mere  neighboring  country, 
the  "  overland  "  a  rather  pleasant  tour,  and  two  years  — 
what  signified  two  years,  when  it  was  to  be  their  first  and 
last  separation?  For,  if  he  could  not  obtain  the  leave  he 
was  all  but  promised,  it  was  arranged  that  she  should  go 
out  to  Calcutta,  and  their  marriage  take  place  there. 

He  rallied  at  last  under  all  these  cheering  suggestions, 
and  gradually  dropped  into  that  talk  so  fascinating  to  Pro- 
messi  Sposi,  in  which  affection  and  worldliness  are  blended 
together,  and  where  the  feelings  of  the  heart  and  the  fur- 
niture of  the  drawing-room  divide  the  interest  between  them. 
There  was  a  dash  of  romance,  too,  in  the  notion  of  life  in 
the  Far  East, —  some  far-away  home  in  the  Neilgherries, 
some  lone  bungalow  on  the  Sutlej,  —  that  helped  them  to 
paint  their  distant  landscape  with  more  effect,  and  they  sat, 


A  LOVERS'  QUARREL.  577 

in  imagination,  under  a  spreading  plantain  on  the  Hima- 
laya, and  watched  the  blood-red  sunsets  over  the  plains  of 
Hindostan. 

Time  passed  very  rapidly  in  this  fashion.  Love  is  the 
very  sublime  of  egotism,  and  people  never  weary  of  them- 
selves. The  last  evening  —  sad  things  these  last  evenings 
—  came,  and  they  strolled  out  to  take  a  last  look  on  the 
lake  and  the  snow-white  Alps  beyond  it.  The  painful  feel- 
ing of  having  so  short  a  time  to  say  so  much  was  over 
each  of  them,  and  made  them  more  silent  than  usual.  As 
they  thus  loitered  along,  they  reached  a  spot  where  a  large 
evergreen  oak  stood  alone,  spreading  its  gigantic  arms  over 
the  water,  and  from  which  the  view  of  the  lake  extended 
for  miles  in  each  direction. 

''This  is  the  spot  to  have  a  summer-house,  Florry,"  said 
Loyd;    "and  when  I  come  back  I'll  build  one  here." 

"You  see  there  is  a  rustic  bench  here  already.  Harry 
made  it." 

Scarcely  were  the  words  uttered  than  she  felt  her  cheek 
burning,  and  the  tingling  rush  of  her  blood  to  her  temples. 

' '  Harry  means  Mr.  Calvert,  I  conclude  ? "  said  he, 
coldly. 

"Yes,"  said  she,  faintly. 

"  It  was  a  name  I  have  never  uttered  since  I  passed  this 
threshold,  Florry,  and  I  vowed  to  myself  that  I  would  not 
be  the  first  to  allude  to  it.  My  pledge,  however,  went  no 
further,  and  I  am  now  released  from  its  obligation.  Let 
us  talk  of  him  freely." 

"  No,  Joseph,  I  had  rather  not.  When  he  was  leaving 
this,  it  was  his  last  wish  that  his  name  was  not  to  be 
uttered  here.  We  gave  him  our  solemn  promise,  and  I  feel 
sure  you  will  not  ask  me  to  forget  it." 

"  I  have  no  means  of  knowing  by  what  right  he  could 
pretend  to  exact  such  a  promise,  which,  to  say  the  least, 
is  a  very  unusual  one." 

"There  was  no  question  of  a  right  in  the  matter.  Mr. 
Calvert  was  here  as  our  friend,  associating  with  us  in  close 
intimacy,  enjoying  our  friendship  and  our  confidence,  and 
if  he  had  reasons  of  his  own  for  the  request,  they  were 
enough  for  us." 

8? 


578  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

"  That  does  not  satisfy  me,  Florence,"  said  he,  gravely. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it.  I  have  no  other  explanation  to  give 
you." 

' '  Well ;  I  mean  to  be  more  explicit.  Has  he  told  you 
of  a  correspondence  that  passed  between  us  ?  " 

"  Once  for  all,  Joseph,  I  will  not  be  drawn  into  this  dis- 
cussion. Rightfully,  or  the  reverse,  I  have  given  my  word, 
and  I  will  keep  it." 

*'Do  you  mean  to  say  that  to  any  mention  of  this  man's 
name,  or  to  any  incident  in  which  it  will  occur,  you  will 
turn  a  deaf  ear,  and  not  reply?" 

*'I  will  not  speak  of  him." 

"  Be  it  so.  But  you  will  listen  to  me  when  /  speak  of 
him,  and  you  will  give  my  words  the  same  credence  you 
accord  to  them  on  other  things.  This  is  surely  not  asking 
too  much?" 

"  It  is  more,  however,  than  I  am  willing  to  grant." 

''  This  becomes  serious,  Florence,  and  cannot  be  dis- 
missed lightly.  Our  relations  towards  each  other  are  all 
but  the  closest  that  can  bind  two  destinies.  They  are  such 
as  reject  all  secrecy,  —  all  mystery,  at  all  events.  Now,  if 
Mr.  Calvert's  request  were  the  merest  caprice,  the  veriest 
•whim,  it  matters  not.  The  moment  it  becomes  a  matter  of 
peace  of  mind  to  me  it  is  no  longer  a  trifle." 

*'You  are  making  a  very  serious  matter  of  very  little," 
said  she,  partly  offended. 

*' The  unlimited  confidence  T  have  placed,  and  desire  still 
to  place,  in  you,  is  not  a  little  matter.  I  insist  upon  having 
a  full  explanation." 

*' You  insist?" 

*' Yes,  I  insist.  Remember,  Florence,  that  what  I  claim 
is  not  more  my  due,  for  my  sake  than  for  your  own.  No 
name  in  the  world  should  stand  between  yours  and  mine, 
least  of  all  that  of  one  whom  neither  of  us  can  look  on 
with  respect  or  esteem." 

*'  If  this  be  the  remains  of  some  old  jealousy  —  " 

"  Jealousy !     Jealousy  !     Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Simply  that  there  was  a  time  when  he  thought  you  his 
rival,  and  it  was  just  possible  you  might  have  reciprocated 
the  sentiment." 


A  LOVERS'  QUARREL.  579 

"This  is  intolerable,"  cried  he.  Then,  hastily  checking 
his  angry  outburst,  he  added:  "Why  should  we  grow 
warm,  Florence,  dearest,  over  a  matter  which  can  have  but 
one  aspect  for  us  both?  It  is  of  you,  not  of  myself,  I  have 
been  thinking  all  this  time.  I  simply  begged  you  to  let  me 
know  what  sort  of  relations  existed  between  you  and  Mr. 
Calvert  that  should  prevent  you  speaking  of  him  to  me." 

"  You  said  something  about  insisting.  Now,  '  insisting '  is 
an  ugly  word.     There  is  an  air  of  menace  about  it." 

"  I  am  not  disposed  to  recall  it,"  said  he,  sternly. 

' '  So  much  the  better ;  at  least  it  will  save  us  a  world  of 
very  unpleasant  recrimination,  for  I  refuse  to  comply." 

"You  refuse!  Now,  let  me  understand  you,  for  this  is 
too  vital  a  point  for  me,  at  least,  to  make  any  mistake  about : 
what  is  it  that  you  refuse  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  think  the  tone  of  our  present  discussion  is 
the  best  possible  reason  for  not  prolonging  it?" 

"No!  If  we  have  each  of  us  lost  temper,  I  think  the 
wisest  course  would  be  to  recover  ourselves,  and  see  if  we 
cannot  talk  the  matter  over  in  a  better  spirit." 

"  Begin  then  by  unsaying  that  odious  word." 

"What  is  the  word?" 

"  '  Insist !  '     You  must  not  insist  upon  anything." 

"  I  '11  take  back  the  word  if  you  so  earnestly  desire  it, 
Florence,"  said  he,  gravely;  "  but  I  hope  '  request'  will  be 
read  in  its  place." 

"  Now,  then,  what  is  it  you  request?  for  I  frankly  declare 
that  all  this  time  I  don't  rightly  understand  what  you  ask  of 
me." 

"  This  is  worse  than  I  suspected,"  said  he,  angrily ;  "  for 
now  I  see  that  it  is  in  the  mere  spirit  of  defiance  that  you 
rejected  my  demand." 

"  Upon  my  word,  sir,  I  believe  it  will  turn  out  that  neither 
of  us  knew  very  much  of  the  other." 

"You  think  so?" 

"Yes;  don't  you?" 

He  grew  very  pale,  and  made  no  answer,  though  he  twice 
seemed  as  if  about  to  speak. 

"  I  declare,"  cried  she,  and  her  heightened  color  and 
flashing  eye  showed  the  temper  that  stirred  her,  —  "I  declare 


580  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

I  think  we  shall  have  employed  all  our  lately  displayed  can- 
dor to  very  little  advantage  if  it  does  not  carry  us  a  little 
further." 

"  I  scarcely  catch  your  meaning,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice. 

''  What  I  meant  was,  that  by  a  little  further  effort  of  our 
frankness  we  might  come  to  convey  to  each  other  that  scenes 
like  these  are  not  pleasant,  nor  need  they  ever  occur  again." 

"  I  believe  at  last  I  apprehend  you,"  said  he,  in  a  broken 
accent.  ' '  You  desire  that  our  engagement  should  be 
broken  off." 

She  made  no  answer,  but  averted  her  head. 

"  I  will  do  my  best  to  be  calm,  Florence,"  continued  he, 
*'  and  I  will  ask  as  much  of  you.  Let  neither  of  us  sacrifice 
the  prospect  of  a  whole  life's  happiness  for  the  sake  of  a 
petty  victory  in  a  very  petty  dispute.  If,  however,  you  are 
of  opinion  —  "  He  stopped  ;  he  was  about  to  say  more  than 
he  had  intended,  more  than  he.  knew  how  to  say,  and  he 
stopped,  confused  and  embarrassed. 

"  Why  don't  you  continue?  "  said  she,  with  a  cold  smile. 

"  Because  I  don't  know  what  I  was  about  to  say." 

*'  Then  shall  I  say  it  for  you?  " 

"Yes,  do  so." 

"  It  was  this,  then,  or  at  least  to  this  purport:  If  you. 
Miss  Florence  Walter,  are  of  opinion  that  two  people  who 
have  not  succeeded  in  inspiring  each  other  with  that  degree 
of  confidence  that  rejects  all  distrust  are  scarcely  wise  in 
entering  into  a  contract  of  which  truthfulness  is  the  very 
soul  and  essence,  and  that,  though  not  very  gallant  on  my 
part,  as  the  man,  to  suggest  it,  yet  in  all  candor,  which  here 
must  take  the  place  of  courtesy,  the  sooner  the  persons  so 
placed  escape  from  such  a  false  position  the  better." 

"  And  part?  "  said  he,  in  a  hollow,  feeble  voice. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  slightly,  as  though  to  say, 
*'  That,  or  any  similar  word,  will  convey  my  meaning." 

"Oh,  Florence,  is  it  come  to  this?  Is  this  to  be  a  last 
evening  in  its  saddest,  bitterest  sense  ?  " 

"When  gentlemen  declare  that  they  'insist,'  I  take  it 
they  mean  to  have  their  way,"  said  she,  with  a  careless  toss 
of  her  head. 

"Good  Heavens!"  cried   he,  in   a   passion,  "have   you 


A  LOVERS'  QUARREL.  681 

never  cared  for  me  at  all?  or  Is  your  love  so  little  rooted 
that  you  can  tear  it  from  your  heart  without  a  pang  ?  " 

"  AH  this  going  back  on  the  past  is  very  unprofitable," 
said  she,  coldly. 

He  was  stung  by  the  contemptuous  tone  even  more  than 
by  the  words  she  used.  It  seemed  as  though  she  held  his 
love  so  lightly  she  would  not  condescend  to  the  slightest 
trouble  to  retain  it,  and  this  too  at  a  moment  of  parting. 

"  Florence  !  "  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  deep  melancholy, —  "  if 
I  am  to  call  you  by  that  name  for  the  last  time, — tell  me 
frankly,  is  this  a  sudden  caprice  of  yours,  or  has  it  lain 
rankling  in  your  mind,  as  a  thing  you  would  conquer  if  you 
could,  or  submit  to  if  you  must?  " 

"  I  suspect  it  is  neither  one  nor  the  other,"  said  she,  with 
a  levity  that  almost  seemed  gayety.  '•  I  don't  think  I  am 
capricious,  and  I  know  I  never  harbor  a  long-standing 
grievance.  I  really  believe  that  it  is  to  your  own  heart  you 
must  look  for  the  reasons  of  what  has  occurred  between  us. 
I  have  often  heard  that  men  are  so  ashamed  of  being  jealous 
that  they  '11  never  forgive  any  one  who  sees  them  in  the  fit." 

"  Enough,  more  than  enough,"  said  he,  trembling  from 
head  to  foot.     "  Let  us  part." 

*'  Remember,  the  proposal  comes  from  you." 

'^  Yes,  yes,  it  comes  from  me.  It  matters  little  whence 
it  comes." 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  it  matters  a  great  deal,  at  least 
to  me.  I  am  not  to  bear  the  reproaches  of  my  aunt  and  my 
sister  for  a  supposed  cruelty  towards  a  man  who  has  himself 
repudiated  our  engagement.  It  would  be  rather  hard  that 
I  was  to  be  deserted  and  condemned  too." 

''Deserted,  Florry !  "  cried  he,  as  the  tears  stood  in  his 
eyes. 

"  Well,  I  don't  mean  deserted.  There  is  no  desertion  on 
either  side.  It  is  a  perfectly  amicable  arrangement  of  two 
people  who  are  not  disposed  to  travel  the  same  road.  I 
don't  want  to  imply  that  any  more  blame  attaches  to  you 
than  to  me." 

"  How  can  any  attach  to  me  at  all?  "  cried  he. 
"  Oh,  then,  if  you  wish  it,  I  take  the  whole  of  it." 

"  Shall  i  speak  to  your  aunt.  Miss  Walter,  or  will  you?  " 


582  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

"It  does  not  signify  much  which  of  us  is  the  first  to 
acquaint  her.  Perhaps,  however,  it  would  come  with  more 
propriety  from  you.  I  think  I  see  her  yonder  near  the 
cypress-trees,  and  I  'm  sure  you  '11  be  glad  to  have  it  over. 
Wait  one  moment,  this  ring  — "  As  she  endeavored  to 
draw  a  small  ruby  ring  from  her  finger,  Loyd  saw  the 
turquoise  which  she  wore  on  the  other  hand,  —  '*  this  ring," 
said  she,  in  some  confusion,  "  is  yours." 

"Not  this  one,"  said  he,  sternly,  as  he  pointed  to  the 
other. 

"No,  the  ruby,"  said  she,  with  an  easy  smile.  "It  was 
getting  to  hurt  my  finger." 

"  I  hope  you  may  wear  the  other  more  easily,"  said  he, 
with  a  bitter  laugh. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  she,  with  a  courtesy,  and  then  turned 
away,  and  walked  towards  the  house. 

After  Loyd  had  proceeded  a  few  steps  to  overtake  Miss 
Grainger,  he  stopped  and  hastened  back  to  the  villa.  Such 
an  explanation  as  he  must  make  could,  he  felt,  be  only 
done  by  a  letter.  He  could  not,  besides,  face  the  question- 
ing and  cross-questioning  the  old  lady  would  submit  him 
to,  nor  endure  the  misery  of  recalling,  at  her  bidding,  each 
stage  of  their  sad  quarrel.  A  letter,  therefore,  he  would 
write,  and  then  leave  the  villa  forever,  and  without  a  fare- 
well to  any.  He  knew  this  was  not  a  gracious  way  to  treat 
those  who  had  been  uniformly  affectionate  and  kind,  who 
had  been  to  him  like  dear  sisters ;  but  he  dreaded  a  possible 
meeting.  He  could  not  answer  for  himself,  either,  as  to  what 
charges  he  might  be  led  to  make  against  Florence,  or  what 
weakness  of  character  he  might  exhibit  in  the  midst  of  his 
aflfliction.  "  I  will  simply  narrate  so  much  as  will  show  that 
we  have  agreed  to  separate,  and  are  never  to  meet  more," 
muttered  he.  "  Florence  may  tell  as  much  more  as  she  likes, 
and  give  what  version  of  me  she  pleases.  It  matters  little 
now  how  or  what  they  think  of  one  whose  heart  is  already 
in  the  grave."  And  thus  saying,  he  gained  his  room,  and, 
locking  the  door,  began  to  write.  Deeply  occupied  in  his 
task,  which  he  found  so  diflScult  that  several  half-scrawled 
sheets  already  littered  the  table  before  him,  he  never  felt 
the  time  as  it  passed.     It  was  already  midnight  before  he 


A  LOVERS'  QUARREL.  583 

was  aware  of  it;  and  still  his  letter  was  not  finished.  It 
was  so  hard  to  say  enough,  and  not  too  much ;  so  hard  to 
justify  himself  in  any  degree,  and  yet  spare  Aer,  against 
whom  he  would  not  use  one  word  of  reproach ;  so  hard  to 
confess  the  misery  that  he  felt,  and  yet  not  seem  abject  in 
the  very  avowal. 

Not  one  of  his  attempts  had  satisfied  him.  Some  were 
two  lengthy,  some  too  curt  and  brief,  some  read  cold,  stern, 
and  forbidding ;  others  seemed  like  half  entreaties  for  a 
more  merciful  judgment,  —  in  fact,  he  was  but  writing  down 
each  passing  emotion  of  his  mind,  and  recording  the  varying 
passions  that  swayed  him. 

As  he  sat  thus,  puzzled  and  embarrassed,  he  sprung  up 
from  his  chair  with  terror  at  a  cry  that  seemed  to  fill  the 
room,  and  make  the  very  air  vibrate  around  him.  It  was 
a  shriek  as  of  one  in  the  maddest  agony,  and  lasted  for 
some  seconds.  He  thought  it  came  from  the  lake,  and  he 
flung  open  his  window  and  listened ;  but  all  was  calm  and 
still,  the  very  faintest  night  air  was  astir,  and  not  even  the 
leaves  moved.  He  then  opened  his  door,  and  crept  stealth- 
ily out  upon  the  corridor ;  but  all  was  quiet  within  the 
house.  Noiselessly  he  walked  to  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
and  listened ;  but  not  a  sound  nor  a  stir  was  to  be  heard. 
He  went  back  to  his  room,  agitated  and  excited.  He  had  read 
of  those  conditions  of  cerebral  excitement  when  the  nerves 
of  sense  present  impressions  which  have  no  existence  in 
fact,  and  the  sufferers  fancy  that  they  have  seen  sights, 
or  heard  sounds,  which  have  no  reality. 

He  thought  he  could  measure  the  agitation  that  distressed 
him  by  this  disturbance  of  the  brain,  and  he  bathed  his  tem- 
ples with  cold  water,  and  sat  down  at  the  open  window  to 
try  to  regain  calm  and  self-possession.  For  a  while  the 
speculation  on  this  strange  problem  occupied  him,  and  he 
wandered  on  in  thought  to  ask  himself  which  of  the  events 
of  life  should  be  assumed  as  real,  and  which  mere  self- 
delusions.  "  If,  for  instance,"  thought  he,  "I  could  believe 
that  this  dreadful  scene  with  Florence  never  occurred,  that  it 
was  a  mere  vision  conjured  up  by  my  own  gloomy  forebod- 
ings, and  my  sorrow  at  our  approaching  separation,  — what 
ecstasy  would  be  mine  !    What  is  there,"  asked  he  of  himself, 


584  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

aloud,  "  to  show  or  prove  that  we  have  parted?  What  evi- 
dence have  I  of  one  word  that  may  or  may  not  have  passed 
between  us  that  would  not  apply  to  that  wild  scream  that 
so  lately  chilled  my  very  blood,  and  which  I  now  know  was 
a  mere  trick  of  imagination  ?  "  As  he  spoke,  he  turned  to 
the  table,  and  there  lay  the  proof  that  he  challenged  before 
him.  There,  beside  his  half -written  letter,  stood  the  ring 
he  had  given  her  and  which  she  had  just  given  back  to  him. 
The  revulsion  was  very  painful,  and  the  tears,  which  had 
not  come  before,  now  rolled  heavily  down  his  cheeks.  He 
took  up  the  ring  and  raised  it  to  his  lips,  but  laid  it  down 
without  kissing  it.  These  sent-back  gifts  are  very  sad 
things ;  they  do  not  bury  the  memory  of  the  loved  one  who 
wore  them.  Like  the  flower  that  fell  from  her  hair,  they 
bear  other  memories.  They  tell  of  blighted  hopes,  of 
broken  vows,  of  a  whole  life's  plan  torn,  scattered,  and 
given  to  the  winds.  Their  odor  is  not  of  love ;  they  smell 
of  the  rank  grave,  whither  our  hearts  are  hastening.  He 
sat  gazing  moodily  at  this  ring,  —  it  was  the  story  of  his 
life.  He  remembered  the  hour  and  the  place  he  gave  it  to 
her ;  the  words  he  spoke,  her  blush,  her  trembling  hand  as 
he  drew  it  on  her  finger,  the  pledge  he  uttered,  and  which 
he  made  her  repeat  to  him  again.  He  started.  What  was 
that  noise?  Was  that  his  name  he  heard  uttered?  Yes, 
some  one  was  calling  him.  He  hastened  to  the  door,  and 
opened  it,  and  there  stood  Milly.  She  was  leaning  against 
the  architrave,  like  one  unable  for  further  effort;  her  face 
bloodless,  and  her  hair  in  disorder.  She  staggered  forward, 
and  fell  upon  his  shoulder.  ''  What  is  it,  Milly,  my  own 
dear  sister?"   cried  he;    "what  is  the  matter?" 

"Oh,  Joseph,"  cried  she,  in  a  voice  of  anguish,  "what 
have  you  done  ?     I  could  never  have  believed  this  of  you  !  " 
"  What  do  you  mean,  —  what  is  it  you  charge  me  with  ?  " 
"  You^  who  knew  how  she  loved  you,  —  how  her  whole 
heart  was  your  own  !  " 

"  But  what  do  you  impute  to  me,  Milly  dearest?  " 
"  How  cruel !    How  cruel !  "  cried  she,  wringing  her  hands. 
"  I  swear  to  j^ou  I  do  not  know  of  what  you  accuse  me." 
"  You  have  broken  her  heart,"    cried  she,   vehemently. 
^'  She  will  not  survive  this  cruel  desertion." 


A  LOVERS'  QUARREL.  585 

''  But  who  accuses  me  of  this?  "  asked  he,  indignantly. 

"  She,  herself,  does,  —  she  did,  at  least,  so  long  as  reason 
remained  to  her ;  but  now,  poor  darling,  her  mind  is  wan- 
dering, and  she  is  not  conscious  of  what  she  says,  and  yet 
her  cry  is,  '  Oh,  Joseph,  do  not  leave  me.  Go  to  him, 
Milly ;  on  your  knees  beseech  him  not  to  desert  me.  That 
I  am  in  fault  I  know,  but  I  will  never  again  offend  him.' 
I  cannot,  I  will  not,  tell  you  all  the  dreadful  —  all  the 
humiliating  things  she  says;  but  through  all  we  can  read 
the  terrible  trials  she  must  have  sustained  at  your  hands, 
and  how^  severely  you  have  used  her.  Come  to  her,  at 
least,"  cried  she,  taking  his  arm.  "  I  do  not  ask  or  want 
to  know  what  has  led  to  this  sad  scene  between  you ;  but 
come  to  her  before  it  be  too  late." 

''Let  me  first  of  all  tell  you,  Milly — "  He  stopped. 
He  meant  to  have  revealed  the  truth ;  but  it  seemed  so 
ungenerous  to  be  the  accuser  that  he  stopped,  and  was 
silent. 

"I  don't  care  to  hear  anything.  You  may  be  as  blame- 
less as  you  like.  What  I  want  is  to  save  her.  Come  at 
once." 

Without  a  word,  he  followed  her  down  the  stairs,  and 
across  the  hall,  and  up  another  small  stair.  "  Wait  a 
moment,"  said  she,  opening  the  door,  and  then  as  quickly 
she  turned  and  beckoned  him  to  enter. 

Still  dressed,  but  with  her  hair  falling  loose  about  her, 
and  her  dress  disordered,  Florence  lay  on  her  bed  as  in  a 
trance,  —  so  light  her  breathing  you  could  see  no  motion 
of  the  chest.  Her  eyes  were  partly  opened,  and  lips 
parted ;  but  even  these  gave  to  her  face  a  greater  look  of 
death. 

"  She  is  sleeping  at  last,"  whispered  Miss  Grainger. 
"  She  has  not  spoken  since  you  were  here." 

Loyd  knelt  down  beside  the  bed,  and  pressed  his  cheek 
against  her  cold  hand;  and  the  day  dawn,  as  it  streamed 
in  between  the  shutters,  saw  him  still  there. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

PARTING   SORROWS. 

Hour  after  hour  Loyd  knelt  beside  the  bed  where  Florence 
lay,  motionless  and  unconscious.  Her  aunt  and  sister  glided 
noiselessly  about,  passed  in  and  out  of  the  room,  rarely 
speaking,  and  then  but  in  a  whisper.  At  last  a  servant 
whispered  in  Loyd's  ear  a  message.  He  started  and  said, 
"  Yes,  let  him  wait;  "  and  then,  in  a  moment  after,  added, 
''No,  say  no.  I'll  not  want  the  boat;  the  luggage  may 
be  taken  back  to  my  room." 

It  was  a  few  minutes  after  this  that  Milly  came  behind 
him,  and,  bending  down  so  as  to  speak  in  his  ear,  said, 
"How  I  thank  you,  my  dear  brother,  for  this!  I  know 
the  price  of  your  devotion,  —  none  of  us  will  ever  forget 
it." 

He  made  no  answer,  but  pressed  the  cold  damp  hand  he 
held  to  his  lips. 

''  Does  he  know  that  it  is  nigh  seven  o'clock,  Milly,  and 
that  he  must  be  at  Como  a  quarter  before  eight,  or  he  '11 
lose  the  train  ?  "  said  Miss  Grainger  to  her  niece.  ' 

"  He  knows  it  all,  aunt;  he  has  sent  away  the  boat;  he 
will  not  desert  us." 

"Remember,  child,  what  it  is  he  is  sacrificing.  It  may 
chance  to  be  his  whole  future  fortune." 

"He  '11  stay,  let  it  cost  what  it  may,"  said  Milly. 

"I  declare  I  think  I  will  speak  to  him.  It  is  my  duty  to 
speak  to  him,"  said  the  old  lady,  in  her  own  fussy,  officious 
tone.  "I  will  not  expose  myself  to  the  reproaches  of  his 
family,  —  very  just  reproaches,  too,  if  they  imagined  we 
had  detained  him.  He  will  lose,  not  only  his  passage  out  to 
India,  but,  not  impossibly,  his  appointment  too.  Joseph, 
Joseph,  I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you." 


PARTING  SORROWS.  58T 

*' Dearest  aunt,  I  implore  you  not  to  say  it,"  cried  Milly. 

"Nonsense,  child.  Is  it  for  a  mere  tiff  and  a  fit  of 
hysterics  a  man  is  to  lose  his  livelihood?  Joseph  Loyd, 
come  into  the  next  room  for  a  moment." 

"I  cannot  leave  this,"  said  he,  in  a  low,  faint  voice. 
*'Say  what  you  have  to  say  to  me  here." 

''It  is  on  the  stroke  of  seven." 

He  nodded. 

"The  train  leaves  a  quarter  before  eight,  and  if  you  don't 
start  by  this  one  you  can't  reach  Leghorn  by  Tuesday." 

"I  know  it;  I  'm  not  going." 

"Do  you  mean  to  give  up  your  appointment?"  asked 
she,  in  a  voice  of  almost  scornful  reproach. 

"I  mean,  that  I  '11  not  go." 

"What  will  your  friends  say  to  this?"  said  she,  angrily. 

"I  have  not  thought,  nor  can  I  think,  of  that  now.  My 
place  is  here." 

"Then  I  must  protest;  and  I  beg  you  to  remember  that 
I  have  protested  against  this  resolve  on  your  part.  Your 
family  are  not  to  say,  hereafter,  that  it  was  through  any 
interference  or  influence  of  ours  that  you  took  this  unhappy 
determination.  I  '11  write,  this  very  day,  to  your  father, 
and  say  so.     There,   it  is  striking  seven  now!  " 

He  made  no  reply;  indeed,  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  not 
heard  her. 

"You  might  still  be  in  time,  if  you  were  to  exert  your- 
self," whispered  she,  with  more  earnestness. 

"I  tell  you  again,"  said  he,  raising  his  voice  to  a  louder 
pitch,  "that  my  place  is  here,  and  I  will  not  leave  her." 

A  low,  faint  sigh  was  breathed  by  the  sick  girl,  and, 
gently  moving  her  hand,   she  laid  it  on  his  head. 

"You  know  me  then,  dearest? "  whispered  he.  "You 
know  who  it  is  kneels  beside  you?" 

She  made  no  answer,  but  her  feeble  fingers  tried  to  play 
with  his  hair,  and  strayed,  unguided,  over  his  head. 

What  shape  of  reproach,  remonstrance,  or  protest  Miss 
Grainger's  mutterings  took,  is  not  recorded;  but  she  bustled 
out  of  the  room,  evidently  displeased  with  all  in  it. 

"She  knows  you,  Joseph.  She  is  trying  to  thank  you," 
said  Milly. 


588  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

"Her  lips  are  moving.  Can  you  hear  what  she  says, 
Milly?" 

The  girl  bent  over  the  bed  till  her  ear  almost  touched  her 
sister's  mouth.  ''Yes,  darling,  from  his  heart  he  does. 
He  never  loved  you  with  such  devotion  as  now.  She  asks 
if  you  can  forgive  her,  Joseph.  She  remembers  every- 
thing." 

"And  not  leave  me,"  sighed  Florence,  in  a  voice  barely 
audible. 

"No,  my  own  dearest,  I  will  not  leave  you,"  was  all  that 
he  could  utter  in  the  conflict  of  joy  and  sorrow  he  felt.  A 
weak  attempt  to  thank  him  she  made  by  an  effort  to  press 
his  hand,  but  it  sent  a  thrill  of  delight  through  his  heart, 
more  than  a  recompense  for  all  he  had  suffered. 

If  Milly,  with  a  generous  delicacy,  retired  towards  the 
window  and  took  up  her  work,  not  very  profitably  perhaps, 
seeing  how  little  light  came  through  the  nearly  closed  shut- 
ters, let  us  not  show  ourselves  less  discreet,  and  leave  the 
lovers  to  themselves.  Be  assured,  dear  reader,  that  in  our 
reserve  on  this  point  we  are  not  less  mindful  of  your  benefit 
than  of  theirs.  The  charming  things,  so  delightful  to  say 
and  so  ecstatic  to  hear,  are  wonderfully  tame  to  tell.  Per- 
haps their  very  charm  is  in  the  fact  that  their  spell  was  only 
powerful  to  those  who  uttered  them.  At  all  events,  we  are 
determined  on  discretion,  and  shall  only  own  that,  though 
Aunt  Grainger  made  periodical  visits  to  the  sick-room, 
with  frequent  references  to  the  hour  of  the  day  and  the 
departures  and  arrival  of  various  rail-trains,  they  never 
heard  her,  or,   indeed,  knew  that  she  was  present. 

And  though  she  was  mistress  of  those  "asides"  and  that 
grand  innuendo  style  which  is  so  deadly  round  a  corner, 
they  never  paid  the  slightest  heed  to  her  fire.  All  the 
adroit  references  to  the  weather,  and  the  "glorious  day  for 
travelling,"  went  for  naught.  As  well  as  the  more  subtle 
compliments  she  made  Florence  on  the  appetite  she  dis- 
played for  her  chocolate,  and  which  were  intended  to  con- 
vey that  a  young  lady  who  enjoyed  her  breakfast  so  heartily 
need  never  have  lost  a  man  a  passage  to  Calcutta  for  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  her  eat  it.  Truth  was,  Aunt  Grainger 
was  not  in  love,  and,  consequently,  no  more  fit  to  legislate 


PARTING  SORROWS.  689 

for  those  who  were  than  a  peasant  in  rude  health  is  to 
sympathize  with  the  nervous  irritability  of  a  fine  lady. 
Neither  was  Milly  in  love,  you  will  perhaps  say,  and  she 
felt  for  them.  True,  but  Milly  might  be,  —  Milly  was  con- 
stitutionally exposed  to  the  malady,  and  the  very  vicinity 
of  the  disease  was  what  the  faculty  call  a  predisposing 
cause.  It  made  her  very  happy  to  see  Joseph  so  fond,  and 
Florence  so  contented. 

Far  too  happy  to  think  of  the  price  he  paid  for  his  happi- 
ness, Loyd  passed  the  day  beside  her.  Never  before  was 
he  so  much  in  love !  Indeed,  it  was  not  till  the  thought  of 
losing  her  forever  presented  itself,  that  he  knew  or  felt 
what  a  blank  life  would  hereafter  become  to  him.  Some 
quaint  German  writer  has  it  that  these  little  quarrels  which 
lovers  occasionally  get  up  as  a  sort  of  trial  of  their  own 
powers  of  independence,  are  like  the  attempts  people  make 
to  remain  a  long  time  under  water,  and  which  only  end  in 
a  profound  conviction  that  their  organization  was  unequal 
to  the  test.  But  there  is  another  form  these  passing  differ- 
ences occasionally  take.  Each  of  the  erring  parties  is  sure 
to  nourish  in  his  or  her  heart  the  feeling  of  being  most 
intensely  beloved  by  the  other!  It  is  a  strange  form  for 
selfishness  to  take;  but  selfishness  is  the  most  Protsean  of 
all  failings,  and  there  never  was  seen  the  mask  it  could 
not  fit  to  its  face. 

''And  so  you  imagined  you  could  cast  me  off,  Florence!  " 
"And  you.  Master  Joseph,  had  the  presumption  to  think 
you  could  leave  me,"  formed  the  sum  and  substance  of  that 
long  day's  whispering.  My  dear,  kind  reader,  do  not 
despise  the  sermon  from  the  seeming  simplicity  of  the  text. 
There  is  a  deal  to  be  said  on  it,  and  very  pleasantly  said, 
too.  It  is,  besides,  a  sort  of  litigation  in  which  charge 
and  cross  charge  recur  incessantly,  and,  as  in  all  amicable 
suits,  each  party  pays  his  own  costs. 

It  was  fortunate,  most  fortunate,  that  their  reconciliation 
took  this  form.  It  enabled  each  to  do  that  which  was  most 
imminent  to  be  done,  —  to  ignore  Calvert  altogether,  and 
never  recur  to  any  mention  of  his  name.  Loyd  saw  that 
the  turquoise  ring  was  no  longer  worn  by  her,  and  she, 
with  a  woman's  quickness,  noted  his   observation   of   the 


590  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

fact.  I  am  not  sure  that  in  her  eyes  a  recognition  of  his 
joy  did  not  glisten;  but  she  certainly  never  uttered  a  word 
that  could  bring  up  his  name. 

*'So  I  am  your  guest,  madam,  for  ten  days  more!  "  said 
Loyd  to  Miss  Grainger,  as  they  sat  at  tea  that  night. 

"Oh,  we  are  only  too  happy.  It  is  a  very  great  pleasure 
to  us,  if  —  if  we  could  feel  that  your  delay  may  not  prove 
injurious  to  you." 

"It  will  be  very  enjoyable,  at  all  events,"  said  he,  with 
an  easy  smile,  and  as  though  to  evade  the  discussion  of  the 
other  "count." 

"I  was  thinking  of  what  your  friends  would  say  about  it." 

"It  is  a  very  limited  public,  I  assure  you,"  said  he, 
laughing,  "and  one  which  so  implicitly  trusts  me  that  I 
have  only  to  say  I  have  done  what  I  believed  to  be  right  to 
be  confirmed  in  their  good  esteem." 

The  old  lady  was  not  to  be  put  off  by  generalities,  and 
she  questioned  him  closely  as  to  whether  an  overland  pas- 
sage did  not  cost  a  hundred  pounds  and  upwards,  and  all 
but  asked  whether  it  was  quite  convenient  to  him  to  dis- 
burse that  amount.  She  hinted  something  about  an  adage 
of  people  who  "paid  for  their  whistle,"  but  suggested  some 
grave  doubts  if  they  ever  felt  themselves  recompensed  in 
after  time  by  recollecting  the  music  that  had  cost  so  dearly ; 
in  a  word,  she  made  herself  supremely  disagreeable  while 
he  drank  his  tea,  and  only  too  glad  to  make  his  escape  to 
go  and  sit  beside  Florry,  and  talk  over  again  all  they  had 
said  in  the  morning. 

"Only  think,  Milly,"  said  she,  poutingly,  as  her  sister 
entered,  "how  Aunt  Grainger  is  worrying  poor  Joseph,  and 
won't  let  him  enjoy  in  peace  the  few  daj^s  we  are  to  have 
together." 

But  he  did  enjoy  them,  and  to  the  utmost.  Florence 
very  soon  threw  off  all  trace  of  her  late  indisposition,  and 
sought,  in  many  ways,  to  make  her  lover  forget  all  the  pain 
she  had  cost  him.  The  first  week  was  one  of  almost  un- 
alloyed happiness ;  the  second  opened  with  the  thought  that 
the  days  were  numbered.  After  Monday  came  Tuesday, 
then  Wednesday,  which  preceded  Thursday,  when  he  was 
to  leave. 


PARTING  SORROWS.  691 

How  was  it,  they  asked  themselves,  that  a  whole  week 
had  gone  over?  It  was  surely  impossible!  Impossible 
it  must  be,  for  now  they  remembered  the  mass  of  things 
they  had  to  talk  over  together,  not  one  of  which  had  been 
touched  on. 

"Why,  Joseph  dearest,  you  have  told  me  nothing  about 
yourself.  Whether  you  are  to  be  in  Calcutta,  or  up  the 
country  ?  Where,  and  how  I  am  to  write  ?  When  I  am  to 
hear  from  you  ?  What  of  papa,  —  I  was  going  to  say  our 
papa,  —  would  he  like  to  hear  from  me,  and  may  I  write  to 
him?  Dare  I  speak  to  him  as  a  daughter?  Will  he  think 
me  forward  or  indelicate  for  it?  May  I  tell  him  of  all  our 
plans?  Surely  you  ought  to  have  told  me  some  of  these 
things !  What  could  we  have  been  saying  to  each  other  all 
this  while?  " 

Joseph  looked  at  her,  and  she  turned  away  her  head  pet- 
tishly, and  murmured  something  about  his  being  too  absurd. 
Perhaps  he  was ;  I  certainly  hold  no  brief  to  defend  him  in 
the  case:  convict  or  acquit  him,  dear  reader,  as  you  please. 

And  yet,  not  withstanding  this  appeal,  the  next  three 
days  passed  over  just  as  forgetfully  as  their  predecessors, 
and  then  came  the  sad  Wednesday  evening,  and  the  sadder 
Thursday  morning,  when,  wearied  out  and  exhausted,  for 
they  had  sat  up  all  night  —  his  last  night  —  to  say  good- 
bye. 

"I  declare  he  will  be  late  again;  this  is  the  third  time  he 
has  come  back  from  the  boat,"  exclaimed  Miss  Grainger,  as 
Florence  sank,  half  fainting,  into  Milly's  arms. 

"Yes,  yes,  dear  Joseph,"  muttered  Milly;  "go  now,  go 
at  once,  before  she  recovers  again." 

"  If  I  do  not,  I  never  can, "  cried  he,  as  the  tears  coursed 
down  his  face,  while  he  hurried  away. 

The  monotonous  beat  of  the  oars  suddenly  startled  the 
half-conscious  girl ;  she  looked  up,  and  lifted  her  hand  to 
wave  an  adieu,  and  then  sank  back  into  her  sister's  arms, 
and  fainted. 

Three  days  after,  a  few  hurried  lines  from  Loyd  told 
Florence  that  he  had  sailed  for  Malta,  —  this  time  irrevocably 
off.  They  were  as  sad  lines  to  read  as  to  have  written. 
He  had  begun  by  an  attempt  at  jocularity:  a  sketch  of  his 


592  A  RENT  IN  A   CLOUD. 

fellow-travellers  coming  on  board;  their  national  traits, 
and  the  strange  babble  of  tongues  about  them :  but,  as  the 
bell  rang,  he  dropped  this,  and  scrawled  out,  as  best  he 
could,  his  last  and  blotted  good-byes.  They  were  shaky, 
ill-written  words,  and  might,  who  knows  ?  have  been  blurred 
with  a  tear  or  two.  One  thing  is  certain,  she  who  read 
shed  many  over  them,  and  kissed  them,  with  her  last  waking 
breath,  as  she  fell  asleep. 

About  the  same  day  that  this  letter  reached  Florence, 
came  another,  and  very  different  epistle,  to  the  hands  of 
Algernon  Drayton,  from  his  friend  Calvert.  It  was  not 
above  a  dozen  lines,  and  dated  from  Alexandria :  — 

The  "Leander"  has  just  steamed  in,  crowded  with  snobs,  civil 
and  military,  but  no  Loyd.  The  fellow  must  have  given  up  his 
appointment  or  gone  "  long  sea."  In  any  case,  he  has  escaped  me. 
I  am  frantic.  A  whole  month's  plottings  of  vengeance  scattered  to 
the  winds  and  lost  I  I  'd  return  to  England,  if  I  were  only  certain 
to  meet  with  him ;  but  a  Faquir,  whom  I  have  just  consulted,  says, 
"  Go  east,  and  the  worst  will  come  of  it ! "  and  so  I  start  in 
two  hours  for  Suez.  There  are  two  here  who  know  me,  but  I  mean 
to  caution  them  how  they  show  it :  they  are  old  enough  to  take  a 
hint. 

Yours,  H.  C. 

I  hear  my  old  regiment  has  mutinied,  and  sabred  eight  of  the 
officers.  I  wish  they  'd  have  waited  a  little  longer,  and  neither  S. 
nor  W.  would  have  got  off  so  easily.  From  all  I  can  learn,  and 
from  the  infernal  fright  the  fellows  who  are  going  back  exhibit,  I 
suspect  that  the  work  goes  bravely  on. 


CHAPTER  XVin. 

TIDINGS    FROM    BENGAL. 

I  AM  not  about  to  chronicle  how  time  now  rolled  over  the 
characters  of  our  story.  As  for  the  life  of  those  at  the 
villa,  nothing  could  be  less  eventful.  All  existences  that 
have  any  claim  to  be  called  happy  are  of  this  type,  and  if 
there  be  nothing  brilliant  or  triumphant  in  their  joys, 
neither  is  there  much  poignancy  in  their  sorrows. 

Loyd  wrote  almost  by  every  mail,  and  with  a  tameness 
that  shadowed  forth  the  uniform  tenor  of  his  own  life.  It 
was  pretty  nigh  the  same  story,  garnished  by  the  same 
reflections.  He  had  been  named  a  district  judge  "up  coun- 
try," and  passed  his  days  deciding  the  disputed  claims 
of  indigo  planters  against  the  ryots,  and  the  ryots  against 
the  planters.  Craft,  subtlety,  and  a  dash  of  perjury,  ran 
through  all  these  suits,  and  rendered  them  rather  puzzles 
for  a  quick  intelligence  to  resolve,  than  questions  of  right 
or  legality.  He  told,  too,  how  dreary  and  uncompanionable 
his  life  was;  how  unsolaced  by  friendship,  or  even  com- 
panionship; that  the  climate  was  enervating,  the  scenery 
monotonous,  and  the  thermometer  at  a  hundred  and  twenty 
or  a  hundred  and  thirty  degrees. 

Yet  Loyd  could  speak  with  some  encouragement  about 
his  prospects.  He  was  receiving  eight  hundred  rupees  a 
month,  and  hoped  to  be  promoted  to  some  place,  ending  in 
Ghar  or  Bad,  with  an  advance  of  two  hundred  more.  He 
darkly  hinted  that  the  mutinous  spirit  of  certain  regiments 
was  said  to  be  extending,  but  he  wrote  this  with  all  the 
reserve  of  an  official,  and  the  fear  that  Aunt  Grainger 
might  misquote  him.  Of  course  there  were  other  features 
in  these  letters,  —  those  hopes  and  fears,  and  prayers  and 
wishes,  which  lovers  like  to  write,  almost  as  well  as  read, 
poetizing,-  to  themselves  their  own  existence,  and  throwing 

38 


694  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

a  rose-tint  of  romance  over  lives  as  lead-colored  as  may  be. 
Of  these  I  am  not  going  to  say  anything.  It  is  a  theme 
both  too  delicate  and  too  dull  to  touch  on.  I  respect  and  I 
dread  it. 

I  have  less  reserve  with  the  correspondence  of  another 
character  of  our  tale,  though  certainly,  when  written,  it 
was  not  meant  for  publicity.  The  letter  of  which  I  am 
about  to  make  an  extract  —  and  it  can  be  but  an  extract  — 
was  written  about  ten  months  after  the  departure  of  Calvert 
for  India,  and,  like  his  former  ones,  addressed  to  his  friend 
Drayton :  — 

"  At  the  hazard  of  repeating  myself  if  by  chance  my  former 
letters  have  reached  you,  1  state  that  1  am  in  the  service  of  the 
Meer  Morad,  of  Ghurtpore,  of  whose  doings  the  '  Times  '  correspon- 
dent will  have  told  you  something.  I  have  eight  squadrons  of 
cavalry  and  a  half  battery  of  field-pieces  —  brass  ten-pounders  — 
with  an  English  crown  on  their  breech  We  are  well  armed, 
admirably  mounted,  and  perfect  devils  to  fight.  You  saw  what  we 
did  with  the  detachment  of  the  — th,  and  their  sick  convoy,  coming 
out  of  AUehbad.  The  only  fellow  that  escaped  was  the  doctor,  and 
I  saved  his  life  to  attach  him  to  my  own  staff.  He  is  an  Irish 
fellow  named  Tobin,  and  comes  from  Tralee,  —  if  there  be  such 
a  place,  —  and  begs  his  friends  there  not  to  say  masses  for  him, 
for  he  is  alive,  and  drunk  every  evening.     Do  this,  if  not  a  bore. 

"  By  good  luck  the  Meer,  my  chief,  quarrelled  with  the  king's 
party  in  Delhi,  and  we  came  away  in  time  to  save  being  caught 
by  Wilson,  who  would  have  recognized  me  at  once.  By  the  way, 
Baxter,  of  the  30th,  was  stupid  enough  to  say,  *  Eh,  Calvert,  what  the 
devil  are  you  doing  amongst  these  niggers  ? '  He  was  a  prisoner  at 
the  time,  and  of  course  I  had  to  order  him  to  be  shot  for  his 
imprudence.  How  he  knew  me  I  cannot  guess  ;  my  beard  is  down 
to  my  breast,  and  I  am  turbaned  and  shawled  in  the  most  approved 
fashion.  We  are  now  simply  marauding,  cutting  off  supplies, 
falling  on  weak  detachments,  and  doing  a  small  retail  business  in 
murder  wherever  we  chance  upon  a  station  of  civil  servants.  T 
narrowly  escaped  being  caught  by  a  troop  of  the  9th  Lancers, 
every  man  of  whom  knows  me.  T  went  over,  with  six  trusty 
fellows,  to  Astraghan,  where  T  learned  that  a  certain  Loyd  was 
stationed  as  Government  receiver.  We  got  there  by  night,  burned 
his  bungalow,  shot  him,  and  then  discovered  he  was  not  our  man, 
but  another  Loyd.  Bradshaw  came  up  with  his  troop.  He  gave 
us  an  eight-mile  chase  across  country,  and,  knowing  how  the  Ninth 
ride,  I  took  them  over  some  sharp  nullahs,  and  the  croppers  they  got 


TIDINGS  FROM  BENGAL.  595 

you  '11  scarcely  see  mentioned  in  the  Government  despatches.  I 
fired  three  barrels  of  my  Yankee  six-shooter  at  Brad,  and  I  heard 
the  old  beggar  offer  a  thousand  rupees  for  my  head.  When  he 
found  he  could  not  overtake  us,  and  sounded  a  halt,  I  screamed  out, 
'  Threes  about,  Bradshaw.'  1  'd  give  fifty  pounds  to  hear  him  tell  the 
story  at  mess ;  '  Yes,  sir,  begad,  sir,  in  as  good  EngUsh,  sir,  as  yours 
or  mine,  sir:  a  fellow  who  had  served  the  Queen,  I  '11  swear.' 

"For  the  moment,  it  is  a  mere  mutiny,  but  it  will  soon  be  a 
rebellion  ;  and  I  don't  conceal  from  myself  the  danger  of  what  I  am 
doing,  as  you,  in  all  likelihood,  will  suspect.  Not  dangers  from  the 
Queen's  fellows,  —  for  they  shall  never  take  me  alive,  —  but  the 
dangers  I  run  from  my  present  associates,  and  who,  of  course,  only 
half  trust  me.  .  .  .  Do  you  remember  old  Commissary-General 
Yates,  —  J.  C.  V.  R.  Y'ates,  the  old  ass  use  to  write  himself?  Well, 
amongst  the  other  events  of  the  time,  was  the  sack  and  '  loot ' 
of  his  house  at  Cawnpore,  and  the  capture  of  his  pretty  wife,  whom 
they  brought  in  here  a  prisoner.  I  expected  to  find  the  poor  young 
creature  terrified  almost  out  of  her  reason.  Not  a  bit  of  it !  She 
was  very  angry  with  the  fellows  who  robbed  her,  and  rated  them 
roundly  in  choice  Hindostanee,  telling  one  of  the  chiefs  that  his 
grandfather  was  a  scorched  pig.  Like  a  woman,  and  a  clever 
woman  too,  though  she  recognized  me,  —  I  can  almost  swear  that 
she  did,  —  she  never  showed  it,  and  we  talked  away  all  the  evening, 
and  smoked  our  hookahs  together  in  Oriental  guise.  I  gave  her  a 
pass  next  morning  to  Calcutta,  and  saw  her  safe  to  the  great  trunk 
road,  giving  her  bearers  as  far  as  Behdarah.  She  expressed  herself 
as  very  grateful  for  my  attentions,  and  hoped  at  some  future  time  — 
this  with  a  malicious  twinkle  of  her  gray  eyes  —  to  show  the 
*  Bahadoor  '  that  she  had  not  forgotten  them.  So  you  see  there  are 
lights  as  well  as  shadows  in  the  life  of  a  rebel." 

I  omit  a  portion  here,  and  come  to  the  conclusion,  which 
was  evidently  added  in  haste. 

"  '  Up  and  away  1  *  is  the  order.  We  are  off  to  Bithoor.  The 
Nana  there  —  a  stanch  friend,  as  it  was  thought,  of  British  rule  — 
has  declared  for  independence;  and  as  there  is  plenty  of  go  in  him, 
look  out  for  something  sensational.  Y'ou  would  n't  believe  how,  amidst 
all  these  stirring  scenes,  1  long  for  news  —  from  what  people  call 
home  —  of  Rocksley  and  Uncle  G.,  and  the  dear  Soph ;  but  more 
from  that  villa  beside  the  Italian  lake.  I  'd  give  a  canvas  bag  that 
I  carry  at  my  girdle,  with  a  goodly  stock  of  pearls,  sapphires,  and 
rubies,  for  one  evening's  diary  of  that  cottage  I 

"  If  all  go  on  as  well  and  prosperously  as  I  hope  for,  I  have 
not  the  least  objection,  but  rather  a  wish  that  you  would  tell  the 
world  where  I  am,  and  what  I  am  doing.     Linked  with   failure, 


596  A  RENT  IN  A   CLOUD. 

I  'd  rather  keep  dark  ;  but  as  a  sharer  in  a  great  success,  I  burn 
to  make  it  known  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land  that 
I  am  alive  and  well,  and  ready  to  acquit  a  number  of  personal 
obligations,  if  not  to  the  very  fellows  who  injured  me,  to  their 
friends,  relatives,  and  cousins  to  the  third  generation.  Tell  them, 
Algy,  '  A  chiel  's  amang  ye,  cutting  throats,'  and  add,  if  you  like, 
that  he  writes  himself  your  attached  friend, 

"  Harry  Calvert." 


This  letter,  delivered  in  some  mysterious  manner  to  the 
bankers  at  Calcutta,  was  duly  forwarded,  and  in  time 
reached  the  hands  of  Alfred  Drayton,  who  confided  its 
contents  to  a  few  "friends'*  of  Calvert's,  — men  who  felt 
neither  astonished  nor  shocked  at  the  intelligence;  shifty 
fellows,  with  costly  tastes,  who  would  live  on  society  some- 
how, reputably  if  they  could,  dishonorably  if  they  must; 
and  who  all  agreed  that  "Old  Calvert,"  as  they  called  him, 
—  he  was  younger  than  most  of  them,  —  had  struck  out  a 
very  clever  line,  and  a  far  more  remunerative  one  than 
"rooking  young  Griffins  at  billiards,"  —  such  being,  in  their 
estimation,  the  one  other  alternative  which  fate  had  to  offer 
him.  This  was  all  the  publicity,  however,  Drayton  gave 
to  his  friend's  achievements.  Somehow  or  other,  para- 
graphs did  appear,  not  naming  Calvert,  but  intimating  that 
an  officer,  who  had  formerly  served  her  Majesty,  had  been 
seen  in  the  ranks  of  the  insurgents  of  Upper  Bengal.  Yet 
Calvert  was  not  suspected,  and  he  dropped  out  of  people's 
minds  as  thoroughly  as  if  he  had  dropped  out  of  life. 

To  this  oblivion,  for  a  while,  we  must  leave  him;  for 
even  if  we  had  in  our  hands,  which  we  have  not,  any  records 
of  his  campaigning  life,  we  might  scruple  to  occupy  our 
readers  with  details  which  have  no  direct  bearing  upon  our 
story.  That  Loyd  never  heard  of  him  is  clear  enough. 
The  name  of  Calvert  never  occurred  in  any  letter  from  his 
hand.  It  was  one  no  more  to  be  spoken  of  by  Florence  or 
himself.  One  letter  from  him,  however,  mentioned  an  inci- 
dent which,  to  a  suspicious  mind,  might  have  opened  a 
strange  vein  of  speculation,  though  it  is  right  to  add  that 
neither  the  writer  nor  the  reader  ever  hit  upon  a  clew  to 
the  mystery  indicated.     It  was  during  his  second  yeai  of 


TIDINGS  FROM  BENGAL.  597 

absence   that   he   was   sent    to    Mulnath,    from   which    he 
writes :  — 

"  The  mutiny  has  not  touched  this  spot ;  but  we  hear  every  day 
the  low  rumbling  of  the  distant  storm,  and  we  are  told  that  our  ser- 
vants, and  the  native  battalion  that  are  our  garrison,  are  only  wait- 
ino-  for  the  signal  to  rise.  I  doubt  this  greatly.  I  have  nothing  to 
excite  my  distrust  of  the  people,  but  much  to  recommend  them  to  my 
favor.  It  is  only  two  days  back  that  I  received  secret  intelligence 
of  an  intended  attack  upon  my  bungalow  by  a  party  of  Bithoor  cav- 
alry, whose  doings  have  struck  terror  far  and  near.  Two  companies 
of  the  — th,  that  I  sent  for,  arrived  this  morning,  and  I  now  feel  very 
easy  about  the  reception  the  enemy  will  meet.  The  strangest  part 
of  all  is,  however,  to  come.  Captain  Kolt,  who  commands  the  detach- 
ment, said  in  a  laughing,  jocular  way,  'I  declare,  judge,  if  I  were  you 
I  would  change  my  name,  at  least  till  this  row  was  over.'  I  asked 
him  '  Why  ? '  in  some  surprise  ;  and  he  replied,  '  There  's  rather  a 
run  against  judges  of  your  name  lately.  They  shot  one  at  Astra- 
ghan  last  November.  Six  weeks  back,  they  came  down  near  Agra, 
where  Craven  Loyd  had  just  arrived,  district  judge  and  assessor; 
thev  burnt  his  bungalow,  and  massacred  himself  and  his  household  ; 
and  now,  it  seems,  they  are  after  you.  I  take  it  that  some  one  of 
your  name  has  been  rather  sharp  on  these  fellows,  and  that  this  is 
the  pursuit  of  a  long-meditated  vengeance.  At  all  events,  I  'd  call 
myself  Smith  or  Brown  till  this  prejudice  blows  over.*  " 

The  letter  soon  turned  to  a  pleasanter  theme:  his  appli- 
cation for  a  leave  had  been  favorably  entertained.  By 
October  —  it  was  then  July  —  he  might  hope  to  take  his 
passage  for  England.  Not  that  he  was,  he  said,  at  all  sick 
of  India.  He  had  now  adapted  himself  to  its  ways  and 
habits,  his  health  was  good,  and  the  solitude  —  the  one  sole 
cause  of  complaint  —  he  trusted  would  ere  long  give  way 
to  the  happiest  and  most  blissful  of  all  companionship. 
*' Indeed,  I  must  try  to  make  you  all  emigrate  with  me. 
Aunt  Grainger  can  have  her  flowers  and  her  vegetables  here 
in  all  seasons,  — one  of  my  retainers  is  an  excellent  gar- 
dener,—  and  Milly's  passion  for  riding  can  be  indulged 
upon  the  prettiest  Arab  horses  I  ever  saw." 

Though  the  dangers  which  this  letter  spoke  of  as  impend- 
ing were  enough  to  make  Florence  anxious  and  eager  for 
the  next  mail  from  India,  his  letter  never  again  alluded  to 
them.     He  wrote  full  of  the  delight  of  having  got  his  leave, 


598  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

and  overjoyed  at  all  the  happiness  that  he  pictured  as 
before  him. 

So  in  the  same  strain  and  spirit  was  the  next,  and  then 
came  September,  and  he  wrote:  "This  day  Inonth,  dearest, 
—  this  day  month  I  am  to  sail.  Already  when  these  lines 
are  before  you,  the  interval,  which  to  me  now  seems  an 
age,  will  have  gone  over,  and  you  can  think  of  me  as  has- 
tening towards  you." 

"Oh,  aunt,  dearest,  listen  to  this.  Is  not  this  happy 
news  ?  "  cried  Florence,  as  she  pressed  the  loved  letter  to 
her  lips.  "Joseph  says  that  on  the  18th  —  to-day  is  — 
what  day  is  to-day?  But  you  are  not  minding  me,  aunt. 
What  can  there  be  in  that  letter  of  yours  so  interesting  as 
this?" 

This  remonstrance  was  not  very  unreasonable,  seeing  that 
Miss  Grainger  was  standing  with  her  eyes  fixed  steadfastly 
at  a  letter,  whose  few  lines  could  not  have  taken  a  moment 
to  read,  and  which  must  have  had  some  other  claim  thus  to 
arrest  her  attention. 

*'This  is  wonderful!  "  cried  she,  at  last. 

"What  is  wonderful,  aunt?  Do  pray  gratify  our 
curiosity!  " 

But  the  old  lady  hurried  away  without  a  word,  and  the 
door  of  her  room,  as  it  sharply  banged,  showed  that  she 
desired  to  be  alone. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A    SHOCK. 

No  sooner  did  Miss  Grainger  find  herself  safely  locked  in 
her  room,  than  she  re-opened  the  letter  the  post  had  just 
brought  her.  It  was  exceedingly  brief,  and  seemed  hastily 
written :  — 

Strictly  and  imperatively  private. 

Trieste,  Tuesday  morning. 

My  Dear  Miss  Grainger,  —  I  have  just  arrived  here  from 
India,  with  important  despatches  for  the  Government.  The  fatigues 
of  a  long  journey  have  re-opened  an  old  wound,  and  laid  me  up  for  a 
day ;  but  as  my  papers  are  of  such  a  nature  as  will  require  my 
presence  to  explain,  there  is  no  use  in  my  forwarding  them  by 
another ;  I  wait,  therefore,  and  write  this  hurried  note,  to  say 
that  I  will  make  you  a  flying  visit  on  Saturday  next.  I  say  yoUj 
because  I  wish  to  see  yourself  and  alone.  Manage  this  in  the 
best  way  you  can.  I  hope  to  arrive  by  the  morning  train,  and 
be  at  the  villa  by  eleven  or  twelve  at  latest.  Whether  you  receive 
me  or  not,  say  nothing  of  this  note  to  your  nieces  ;  but  I  trust  and 
pray  you  will  not  refuse  half  an  hour  to  your  attached  and  faithful 
friend, 

Harry  Calvert. 

It  was  a  name  to  bring  up  many  memories,  and  Miss 
Grainger  sat  gazing  at  the  lines  before  her  in  a  state  of 
wonderment  blended  with  terror.  Once  only  had  she  read 
of  him  since  his  departure;  it  was  when,  agitated  and  dis- 
tressed to  know  what  had  become  of  him,  she  ventured  on 
a  step  of,  for  her,  daring  boldness,  and  to  whose  temerity 
she  would  not  make  her  nieces  the  witnesses.  She  wrote  a 
letter  to  Miss  Sophia  Calvert,  begging  to  have  some  tidings 
of  her  cousin,  and  some  clew  to  his  whereabouts.  The 
answer  came  by  return  of  post;  it  ran  thus:  — 


600  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

"  Miss  Calvert  has  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  Miss  Grainger's 
note  of  the  8th  inst. 

"Miss  Calvert  is  not  aware  of  any  claim  Miss  Grainger  can 
prefer  to  address  her  by  letter,  still  less  of  any  right  to  bring 
under  her  notice  the  name  of  the  person  she  has  dared  to  inquire 
after.  Any  further  correspondence  from  Miss  Grainger  will  be 
sent  back  unopened." 

The  reading  of  this  epistle  made:  the  old  lady  keep  her 
bed  for  three  days;  her  sufferings  being  all  the  more 
aggravated,  since  they  imposed  secrecy.  From  that  day 
forth  she  had  never  heard  Calvert's  name;  and  though  for 
hours  long  she  would  think  and  ponder  over  him,  the  men- 
tion of  him  was  so  strictly  Interdicted  that  the  very  faintest 
allusion  to  him  was  even  avoided. 

And  now,  like  one  risen  from  the  grave,  he  was  come 
back  again !  Come  back  to  renew,  Heaven  could  tell  what 
sorrows  of  the  past,  and  refresh  the  memory  of  days  that 
had  always  been  dashed  with  troubles. 

It  was  already  Friday.  Where  and  how  could  a  message 
reach  him?  She  dreaded  him,  it  is  true;  but  why  she 
dreaded  him  she  knew  not.  It  was  a  sort  of  vague  terror, 
such  as  some  persons  feel  at  the  sound  of  the  sea,  or  the 
deep-voiced  moaning  of  the  wind  through  trees.  It  con- 
veyed a  sense  of  peril  through  a  sense  of  sadness,  —  no 
more.  She  had  grown  to  dislike  him  from  the  impertinent 
rebuke  Miss  Calvert  bad  administered  to  her  on  his  account. 
The  mention  of  Calvert  was  coupled  with  a  darkened  room, 
leeches,  and  ice  on  the  head,  and,  worse  than  all,  a  torturing 
dread  that  her  mind  might  wander,  and  the  whole  secret 
history  of  the  correspondence  leak  out  in  her  ramblings. 

Were  not  these  reasons  enough  to  make  her  tremble  at 
the  return  of  the  man  who  had  occasioned  so  much  misery? 
Yet,  if  she  could  even  find  a  pretext,  could  she  be  sure  that 
she  could  summon  courage  to  say,  "I'll  not  see  you?" 
There  are  men  to  whom  a  cruelly  cold  reply  is  a  repulse; 
but  Calvert  was  not  one  of  these,  and  this  she  knew  well. 
Besides,  were  she  to  decline  to  receive  him,  might  it  not 
drive  him  to  come  and  ask  to  see  the  girls,  who  now,  by 
acceding  to  his  request,  need  never  hear  or  know  of  his 
visit? 

After  long  and  mature  deliberation,  she  determined  on 


A   SHOCK.  601 

her  line  of  action.  She  would  pretend  to  the  girls  that  her 
letter  was  from  her  lawyer,  who,  accidentally  finding  him- 
self in  her  neighborhood,  begged  an  interview  as  he  passed 
through  Orta  on  his  way  to  Milan,  and  for  this  purpose  she 
could  go  over  in  the  boat  alone,  and  meet  Calvert  on  his 
arrival.  In  this  way  she  could  see  him  without  the  risk  of 
her  nieces'  knowledge,  and  avoid  the  unpleasantness  of 
not  asking  him  to  remain  when  he  had  once  passed  her 
threshold. 

"I  can  at  least  show  him,"  she  thought,  "that  our  old 
relations  are  not  to  be  revived,  though  I  do  not  altogether 
break  off  all  acquaintanceship.  No  man  has  a  finer  sense 
of  tact,  and  he  will  understand  the  distinction  I  intend,  and 
respect  it."  She  also  bethought  her  it  smacked  somewhat 
of  a  vengeance,  —  though  she  knew  not  precisely  how  or 
why,  —  that  she  'd  take  Sophia  Calvert's  note  along  with 
her,  and  show  him  how  her  inquiry  for  him  was  treated  by 
his  family.  She  had  a  copy  of  her  own,  a  most  polite  and 
respectful  epistle  it  was,  and  in  no  way  calculated  to  evoke 
the  rebuke  it  met  with.  "He  '11  be  perhaps  able  to  explain 
the  mystery,"  thought  she,  "and  whatever  Miss  Calvert's 
misconception,  he  can  eradicate  it  when  he  sees  her." 

"How  fussy  and  important  aunt  is  this  morning!  "  said 
Florence  as  the  old  lady  stepped  into  the  boat.  *'If  the 
interview  were  to  be  with  the  Lord  Chancellor  instead  of 
a  London  solicitor,  she  could  not  look  more  profoundly 
impressed  with  its  solemnity." 

"She'll  be  dreadful  when  she  comes  back,"  said  Milly, 
laughing;  "so  full  of  all  the  law  jargon  that  she  could  n't 
understand,  but  will  feel  a  right  to  repeat,  because  she  has 
paid  for  it." 

It  was  thus  they  criticised  her,  — just  as  many  aunts  and 
uncles,  and  some  papas  and  mammas,  too,  are  occasionally 
criticised  by  those  younger  members  of  the  family  who  are 
prone  to  be  very  caustic  as  to  the  mode  certain  burdens  are 
borne,  the  weight  of  which  has  never  distressed  their  own 
shoulders.  And  this  not  from  any  deficiency  of  affection, 
but  simply  through  a  habit  which,  in  the  levity  of  our  daj^, 
has  become  popular,  and  taught  us  to  think  little  of  the  ties 
of  parentage,  and  call  a  father  a  Governor. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

AGAIN   AT    ORTA. 

"  There  is  a  stranger  arrived,  Signora,  who  has  been  ask- 
ing for  you,"  said  the  landlord  of  the  little  inn  at  Orta,  as 
Miss  Grainger  reached  the  door.  ''He  has  ordered  a  boat, 
but  feeling  poorly,  has  lain  down  on  a  bed  till  it  is  ready. 
This  is  his  servant,"  and  he  pointed,  as  he  spoke,  to  a 
dark-visaged  and  very  handsome  man,  who  wore  a  turban 
of  white  and  gold,  and  who  made  a  deep  gesture  of  obei- 
sance as  she  turned  towards  him.  Ere  she  had  time  to 
question  him  as  to  his  knowledge  of  English,  a  bell  rung 
sharply,  and  the  man  hurried  away,  to  return  very  speedily, 
and,  at  the  same  instant,  a  door  opened,  and  Calvert  came 
towards  her,  and,  with  an  air  of  deep  emotion,  took  her 
hand  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

"This  is  too  kind, — far  too  kind  and  considerate  of 
you,"  said  he,  as  he  led  her  forward  to  a  room. 

"When  I  got  your  note,"  she  began,  in  a  voice  a  good 
deal  shaken,  for  there  was  much  in  the  aspect  of  the  man 
before  her  to  move  her,  "  I  really  did  not  know  what  to  do. 
If  you  desired  to  see  me  alone,  it  would  be  impossible  to 
do  this  at  the  villa,  and  so  I  bethought  me  that  the  best 
way  was  to  come  over  here  at  once." 

"  Do  you  find  me  much  changed  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  low, 
sad  voice. 

"Yes,  I  think  you  are  a  good  deal  changed.  You  are 
browner,  and  you  look  larger,  even  taller,  than  you  did, 
and  perhaps  the  beard  makes  you  seem  older." 

This  was  all  true,  but  not  the  whole  truth,  which,  had 
she  spoken  it,  would  have  said  that  he  was  far  handsomer 
than  before.  The  features  had  gained  an  expression  of 
dignity  and  elevation  from  habits  of  command,  and  there 


AGAIN  AT  ORTA.  603 

was  a  lofty  pride  in  his  look  which  became  him  well,  the 
more  as  it  was  now  tempered  with  a  gentle  courtesy  of 
manner  which  showed  itself  in  every  word  and  every  gesture 
towards  her.  A  slight,  scarcely  perceptible  baldness,  at 
the  very  top  of  the  forehead,  served  to  give  height  to  his 
head,  and  add  to  the  thoughtful  character  of  his  look.  His 
dress,  too,  was  peculiar,  and  probably  set  off  to  advantage 
his  striking  features  and  handsome  figure.  He  wore  a 
richly  embroidered  pelisse,  fastened  by  a  shawl  at  the  waist, 
and  on  his  head,  rather  jauntily  set,  a  scarlet  fez,  stitched 
in  gold,  and  ornamented  with  a  star  of  diamonds  and 
emeralds. 

"You  are  right,"  said  he,  with  a  winning  but  very  melan- 
choly smile.  "These  last  two  years  have  aged  me  greatly; 
I  have  gone  through  a  great  deal  in  them.  Come,"  — 
added  he,  as  he  seated  himself  at  her  side  and  took  her 
hand  in  his,  — "come,  tell  me  what  have  you  heard  of  me? 
Be  frank,  tell  me  everything." 

"Nothing,  — absolutely  nothing,"  said  she. 

"Do  you  mean  that  no  one  mentioned  me?  " 

"We  saw  no  one.  Our  life  has  been  one  of  complete, 
unbroken  solitude." 

"  Well,  but  your  letters ;  people  surely  wrote  about  me  ?  " 

"No,"  said  she,  in  some  awkwardness;  for  she  felt  as 
though  there  was  something  offensive  in  this  oblivion,  and 
was  eager  to  lay  it  to  the  charge  of  their  isolation. 
"Remember  what  I  have  told  you  about  our  mode  of  life." 

"You  read  the  newspapers,  though!  You  might  have 
come  upon  my  name  in  them!" 

"We  read  none.  We  ceased  to  take  them.  We  gave 
ourselves  up  to  the  little  cares  and  occupations  of  our 
home,  and  we  really  grew  to  forget  that  there  was  a  world 
outside  us." 

Had  she  been  a  shrewd  reader  of  expression,  she  could 
not  fail  to  have  noticed  the  intense  relief  her  words  gave 
him.  He  looked  like  one  who  hears  the  blessed  words,  "  Not 
Guilty!  "  after  hours  of  dread  anxiety  for  his  fate.  "And 
am  I  to  believe,"  asked  he,  in  a  voice  tremulous  with  joy, 
"  that  from  the  hour  I  said  farewell,  to  this  day,  that  I  have 
been  to  you  as  one  dead  and  buried  and  forgotten  ?  " 


604  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

"I  don't  think  we  forgot  you;  but  we  rigidly  observed 
our  pledge  to  you,  and  never  spoke  of  you." 

•'What  is  there  on  earth  so  precious  as  the  trustfulness 
of  true  friendship?"  burst  he  in,  with  a  marked  enthu- 
siasm. "I  have  had  what  the  world  calls  great  successes, 
and  I  swear  to  you  I  'd  give  them  all,  and  all  their  re- 
wards twice  told,  for  this  proof  of  affection.  And  the  dear 
girls,  and  Florence, — how  is  she?" 

"Far  better  than  when  you  saw  her.  Indeed,  I  should 
say  perfectly  restored  to  health.  She  walks  long  walks, 
and  takes  rides  on  a  mountain  pony,  and  looks  like  one 
who  had  never  known  illness." 

"Not  married  yet?  "  said  he,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"No;  he  is  coming  back  next  month,  and  they  will  prob- 
ably be  married  before  Christmas." 

"And  as  much  in  love  as  ever,  — he,  I  mean?" 

"Fully;  and  she  too." 

"Pshaw!  She  never  cared  for  him;  she  never  could  care 
for  him.  She  tried  it,  —  did  her  very  utmost.  I  saw  the 
struggle,  and  I  saw  its  failure,  and  I  told  her  so!  " 

"You  told  her  so!" 

'*  Why  not?  It  was  well  for  the  poor  girl  that  one  human 
being  in  all  the  world  should  understand  and  feel  for  her. 
And  she  is  determined  to  marry  him?  " 

"Yes;  he  is  coming  back  solely  with  that  object." 

"How  was  it  that  none  of  his  letters  spoke  of  me?  Are 
you  quite  sure  they  did  not?  " 

"  I  am  perfectly  sure,  for  she  always  gave  them  to  me  to 
read. " 

"  Well !  "  cried  he,  boldly,  as  he  stood  up,  and  threw  his 
head  haughtily  back,  "  the  fellow  who  led  Calvert's  Horse, 
—  that  was  the  name  my  irregulars  were  known  by,  — might 
have  won  distinction  enough  to  be  quoted  by  a  petty  Bengal 
civil  servant.  The  Queen  will  possibly  make  amends  for 
this  gentleman's  forgetfulness." 

"You  were  in  all  this  dreadful  campaign,  then?"  asked 
she,  eagerly. 

"Through  the  whole  of  it.  Held  an  independent  com- 
mand; got  four  times  wounded:  this  was  the  last."  And 
he  laid  bare  a  fearful  cicatrice  that  almost  surrounded  his 
right  arm  above  the  wrist.     "Refused  the  Bath." 


AGAIN  AT  ORTA.  605 

"Refused  it?" 

"Why  not?  What  object  is  it  to  me  to  be  Sir  Harry? 
Besides,  a  man  who  holds  opinions  such  as  mine,  should 
accept  no  court  favors.  Colonel  Calvert  is  a  sufficient 
title." 

"And  you  are  a  colonel  already?" 

"  I  was  a  major-general  a  month  ago,  —  local  rank,  of 
course.  But  why  am  I  led  to  talk  of  these  things  ?  May  I 
see  the  girls?     Will  they  like  to  see  me?" 

"For  that  I  can  answer.  But  are  your  minutes  not 
counted?     These  despatches?" 

"I  have  thought  of  all  that.  This  sword-cut  has  left  a 
terrible  'tic '  behind  it,  and  travelling  disposes  to  it,  so  that 
I  have  telegraphed  for  leave  to  send  my  despatches  forward 
by  Hassan,  my  Persian  fellow,  and  rest  myself  here  for  a 
day  or  two.  I  know  you  '11  not  let  me  die  unwatched,  un- 
cared  for.  I  have  not  forgotten  all  the  tender  care  you 
once  bestowed  upon  me." 

She  knew  not  what  to  reply.  Was  she  to  tell  him  that 
the  old  green  chamber,  with  its  little  stair  into  the  garden, 
was  still  at  his  service?  Was  she  to  say,  "Your  old  wel- 
come awaits  you  there,"  or  did  she  dread  his  presence 
amongst  them,  and  even  fear  what  reception  the  girls  would 
extend  to  him? 

"Not,"  added  he,  hastily,  "that  I  am  to  inflict  you  with 
a  sick  man's  company  again.  I  only  beg  for  leave  to  come 
out  of  a  morning  when  I  feel  well  enough.  This  inn  here 
is  very  comfortable,  and  though  I  am  glad  to  see  Onofrio 
does  not  recognize  me,  he  will  soon  learn  my  ways  enough 
to  suit  me.  Meanwhile,  may  I  go  back  with  you,  or  do 
you  think  you  ought  to  prepare  them  for  the  visit  of  so 
formidable  a  personage?" 

"Oh,  I  think  you  may  come  at  once,"  said  she,  laugh- 
ingly, but  very  far  from  feeling  assured  at  the  same  time. 

"  All  the  better.  I  have  some  bawbles  here  that  I  want 
to  deposit  in  more  suitable  hands  than  mine.  You  know 
that  we  irregulars  had  more  looting  than  our  comrades,  and 
I  believe  that  I  was  more  fortunate  in  this  way  than  many 
others."  As  he  spoke,  he  hastily  opened  and  shut  again 
several  jewel  cases,    but  giving  her  time  to  glance  —  no 


606  A  RENT  IN  A   CLOUD. 

more  than  glance  —  at  the  glittering  objects  they  con- 
tained. "By  the  way,"  said  he,  taking  from  one  of  them  a 
costly  brooch  of  pearls,  "this  is  the  sort  of  thing  they  fasten 
a  shawl  with,"  and  he  gallantly  placed  it  in  her  shawl  as  he 
spoke. 

"Oh,  my  dear  Colonel  Calvert!  " 

"Pray  do  not  call  me  colonel.  I  am  Harry  Calvert  for 
you  just  as  I  used  to  be.  Besides,  I  wish  for  nothing  that 
may  remind  me  of  my  late  life  and  all  its  terrible  excite- 
ments. I  am  a  soldier  tired,  very  tired,  of  war's  alarms, 
and  very  eager  for  peace  in  its  best  of  all  significations. 
Shall  we  go?" 

"By  all  means.  I  was  only  thinking  that  you  must 
reconcile  yourself  not  to  return  to-night,  and  rough  it  how 
best  you  can  at  the  villa." 

"  Let  me  once  see  my  portmanteau  in  the  corner  of  my 
old  green  room,  and  my  pipe  where  it  used  to  hang  beside 
my  watch  over  the  chimney,  and  I  '11  not  believe  that  I  have 
passed  the  last  two  terrible  years  but  in  a  dream.  You 
could  not  fancy  how  I  attach  myself  to  that  spot,  but  I  '11 
give  you  a  proof.  I  have  given  orders  to  my  agent  to  buy 
the  villa.  Yes;  you'll  wake  some  fine  morning  and  find 
me  to  be  your  landlord." 

It  was  thus  they  talked  away,  rambling  from  one  theme 
to  the  other,  till  they  had  gone  a  considerable  way  across 
the  lake,  when  once  more  Calvert  recurred  to  the  strange 
circumstance  that  his  name  should  never  have  come  before 
them  in  any  shape  since  his  departure. 

"I  ought  to  tell  you,"  said  she,  in  some  confusion,  "that 
I  once  did  make  an  effort  to  obtain  tidings  of  you.  I  wrote 
to  your  cousin,  Miss  Sophia." 

"You  wrote  to  her!"  burst  he  in,  sternly;  "and  what 
answer  did  you  get?" 

"There  it  is,"  said  she,  drawing  forth  the  letter,  and 
giving  it  to  him. 

"'No  claim!  no  right!  '  "  murmured  he,  as  he  re-read  the 
lines;  "  'the  name  of  the  person  she  had  dared  to  inquire 
after.'  And  you  never  suspected  the  secret  of  all  this 
indignant  anger? " 

"How  could  I?     What  was  it?  " 


AGAIN  AT  ORTA.  607 

"  One  of  the  oldest  and  vulgarest  of  all  passions,  — 
jealousy!  Sophy  had  heard  that  I  was  attached  to  your 
niece.  Some  good-natured  gossip  went  so  far  as  to  say  we 
were  privately  married.  My  old  uncle,  who  only  about 
once  in  a  quarter  of  a  century  cares  what  his  family  are 
doing,  wrote  me  a  very  insulting  letter,  reminding  me  of 
the  year-long  benefits  he  had  bestowed  upon  me,  and,  at 
the  close,  categorically  demanded,  *Are  you  married  to 
her?  '  I  wrote  back  four  words,  'I  wish  I  was,*  and  there 
ended  all  our  intercourse.  Since  I  have  won  certain  dis- 
tinctions, however,  I  have  heard  that  he  wants  to  make 
submission,  and  has  even  hinted  to  my  lawyer  a  hope  that 
the  name  of  Calvert  is  not  to  be  severed  from  the  old  estate 
of  Rocksley  Manor.  But  there  will  be  time  enough  to  tell 
you  about  all  these  things.  What  did  your  nieces  say  to 
that  note  of  Sophy's?'* 

"Nothing.  They  never  saw  it;  never  knew  I  wrote  to 
her." 

"  Most  discreetly  done  on  your  part.  I  cannot  say  how 
much  I  value  the  judgment  you  exercised  on  this  occasion." 

The  old  lady  set  much  store  by  such  praise,  and  grew 
rather  prolix  about  all  the  considerations  which  led  her  to 
adopt  the  wise  course  she  had  taken. 

He  was  glad  to  have  launched  her  upon  a  sea  where  she 
could  beat,  and  tack,  and  wear  at  will,  and  leave  him  to  go 
back  to  his  own  thoughts. 

"And  so,"  said  he,  at  last,  "they  are  to  be  married  before 
Christmas?" 

"Yes;  that  is  the  plan." 

"And  then  she  will  return  with  him  to  India,  I  take  it." 

She  nodded. 

"  Poor  girl !  And  has  she  not  one  friend  in  all  the  world 
to  tell  her  what  a  life  is  before  her  as  the  wife  of  a  third  — 
no,  but  tenth  —  rate  official  in  that  dreary  land  of  splendor 
and  misery,  where  nothing  but  immense  wealth  can  serve 
to  gloss  over  the  dull  uniformity  of  existence,  and  where 
the  income  of  a  year  is  often  devoted  to  dispel  the  ennui 
of  a  single  day?  India,  with  poverty,  is  the  direst  of  all 
penal  settlements.  In  the  bush,  in  the  wilds  of  New 
Zealand,  in  the  far-away  islands  of  the  Pacific,  you  have 


608  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

the  free  air  and  healthful  breezes  of  heaven.  You  can  bathe 
without  having  an  alligator  for  your  companion,  and  lie 
down  on  the  grass  without  a  cobra  on  your  carotid;  but,  in 
India,  life  stands  always  face  to  face  with  death,  and  death 
in  some  hideous  form." 

"  How  you  terrify  me !  "  cried  she,  in  a  voice  of  intense 
emotion. 

"  1  don't  want  to  terrify,  I  want  to  warn.  If  it  were  ever 
my  fate  to  have  a  marriageable  daughter,  and  some  petty 
magistrate  —  some  small  district  judge  of  Bengal  —  asked 
her  for  a  wife,  I  'd  say  to  my  girl,  'Go  and  be  a  farm  ser- 
vant in  New  Caledonia.  Milk  cows,  rear  lambs,  wash, 
scrub,  toil  for  your  daily  bread  in  some  land  where  poverty 
is  not  deemed  the  "plague;"  but  don't  encounter  life  in 
a  society  where  to  be  poor  is  to  be  despicable,  —  where 
narrow  means  are  a  stigma  of  disgrace.'" 

"Joseph  says  nothing  of  all  this.  He  writes  like  one 
well  contented  with  his  lot,  and  very  hopeful  for  the 
future." 

"Has  n't  your  niece  some  ten  or  twelve  thousand 
pounds?" 

"Fifteen." 

"Well,  he  presses  the  investment,  on  which  he  asks  a 
loan,  just  as  any  other  roguish  speculator  would,  that 's 
all." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that,  Mr.  Calvert.  Joseph  is  not  a 
rogue." 

"Men  are  rogues  according  to  their  capacity.  The  clever 
fellows  do  not  need  roguery,  and  achieve  success  just 
because  they  are  stronger  and  better  than  their  neighbors; 
but  I  don't  want  to  talk  of  Loyd,  —  every  consideration  of 
the  present  case  can  be  entertained  without  him." 

"How  can  that  be,  if  he  is  to  be  her  husband?  " 

"Ah!  If  —  if.  My  dear  old  friend,  when  an  if  comes 
into  any  question,  the  wisest  way  is  not  to  debate  it,  for 
the  simple  reason  that  applying  our  logic  to  what  is  merely 
imaginary  is  very  like  putting  a  superstructure  of  masonry 
over  a  house  of  cards.  Besides,  if  we  must  talk  with  a 
hypothesis,  I  '11  put  mine,  '  Must  she  of  necessity  marry 
this  man,   if  he  insists  on  it?'" 


AGAIN  AT  ORTA.  609 

"Of  course;  and  the  more,  that  she  loves  him?" 

"  Loves  him !  Have  1  not  told  you  that  you  are  mistaken 
there?  He  entrapped  her  at  first  into  a  half  admissiop  of 
caring  for  him,  and,  partly  from  a  sense  of  honor,  and 
partly  from  obstinacy,  she  adheres  to  it.  But  she  does  so 
just  the  way  people  cling  to  a  religion,  because  nobody  has 
ever  taken  the  trouble  to  convert  them  to  another  faith." 

"I  wish  you  would  not  say  these  things  to  me,"  cried  she, 
with  much  emotion.  "You  have  a  way  of  throwing  doubts 
upon  everything  and  everybody,  that  always  makes  me 
miserable,  and  I  ask  myself  afterwards,  *Is  there  nothing 
to  be  believed?     Is  no  one  to  be  trusted?'" 

"Not  a  great  many,  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  sighed  he. 
"It's  no  bright  testimony  to  the  goodness  of  the  world 
that  the  longer  a  man  lives  the  worse  he  thinks  of  it.  I 
surely  saw  the  flutter  of  white  muslin  through  the  trees 
yonder.  Oh,  dear,  how  much  softer  my  heart  is  than  I  knew 
of!  I  feel  a  sort  of  choking  in  the  throat  as  I  draw  near 
this  dear  old  place.  Yes,  there  she  is,  —  Florence  herself. 
I  remember  her  way  of  waving  a  handkerchief.  I  '11  answer 
it  as  I  used  to  do."  And  he  stood  up  in  the  boat  and  waved 
his  handkerchief  over  his  head  with  a  wide  and  circling 
motion.  "Look!  She  sees  it,  and  she  's  away  to  the  house 
at  speed.  How  she  runs!  She  could  not  have  mustered 
such  speed  as  that  when  I  last  saw  her." 

*'She  has  gone  to  tell  Milly,  I  'm  certain." 

He  made  no  reply,  but  covered  his  face  with  his  hands, 
and  sat  silent  and  motionless.  Meanwhile  the  boat  glided 
up  to  the  landing-place,  and  they  disembarked. 

"I  thought  the  girls  would  have  been  here  to  meet  us," 
said  Miss  Grainger,  with  a  pique  she  could  not  repress; 
but  Calvert  walked  along  at  her  side,  and  made  no  answer. 

"I  think  you  know  your  way  here,"  said  she,  with  a  smile, 
as  she  motioned  him  towards  the  drawing-room. 


39 


CHAPTER  XXL 

THE    RETURN. 

When  Calvert  found  himself  alone  in  the  drawing-room  he 
felt  as  if  he  had  never  been  away.  Everything  was  so 
exactly  as  he  left  it.  There  was  the  sofa  drawn  close  to 
the  window  of  the  flower-garden  where  Florence  used  to 
recline;  there  the  little  work-table,  with  the  tall  glass  that 
held  her  hyacinths,  the  flowers  she  was  so  fond  of;  there 
the  rug  for  her  terrier  to  lie  on.  Yonder,  under  the  fig- 
tree,  hung  the  cage  with  her  favorite  canary;  and  here  were 
the  very  books  she  used  to  read  long  ago,  —  Petrarch  and 
Tennyson  and  Uhland.  There  was  a  flower  to  mark  a  place 
in  the  volume  of  Uhland,  and  it  was  at  a  little  poem  they 
had  once  read  together.  How  full  of  memories  are  these 
old  rooms,  where  we  have  dreamed  away  some  weeks  of 
life,  if  not  in  love,  in  something  akin  to  it,  and  thus  more 
alive  to  the  influences  of  externals  than  if  further  gone  in 
the  passion!  There  was  not  a  spot,  not  a  chair,  nor  a 
window-seat  that  did  not  remind  Calvert  of  some  incident 
of  the  past.  He  missed  his  favorite  song,  "A  place  in  thy 
memory,  dearest,"  from  the  piano,  and  he  sought  for  it  and 
put  it  back  where  it  used  to  be ,  and  he  then  went  over  to 
her  table  to  arrange  the  books  as  they  were  wont  to  be  long 
ago,  and  came  suddenly  upon  a  small  morocco  case.  He 
opened  it.  It  was  a  miniature  of  Loyd,  the  man  he  hated 
the  most  on  earth.  It  was  an  ill-done  portrait,  and  gave 
an  affected  thoughtf ulness  and  elevation  to  his  calm  features 
which  imparted  insufferable  pretension  to  them.  Calvert 
held  out  the  picture  at  arm's  length,  and  laughed  scornfully 
as  he  looked  at  it.  He  had  but  time  to  lay  it  down  on  the 
table  when  Milly  entered  the  room.  She  approached  him 
hurriedly,  and  with  an  agitated  manner.  "Oh,  Colonel 
Calvert  —  "  she  began. 


THE   RETURN.  611 

"Why  not  Harry,  brother  Harry,  as  I  used  to  be,  Milly 
dearest,"  said  he,  as  he  caught  her  hand  in  both  his  own. 
"What  has  happened  to  forfeit  for  me  my  old  place  in  your 
esteem?  " 

"Nothing,  —  nothing,  but  all  is  so  changed;  you  have 
grown  to  be  such  a  great  man,  and  we  have  become  lost  to 
all  that  goes  on  in  the  world." 

"And  where  is  your  sister?  Will  she  not  come  to  see 
me?" 

"You  startled  her;  you  gave  her  such  a  shock,  when  you 
stood  up  in  the  boat  and  returned  her  salute,  that  she  was 
quite  overcome,  and  has  gone  to  her  room.  Aunt  Grainger 
is  with  her,  and  told  me  to  say,  —  that  is,  she  hoped,  if  you 
would  not  take  it  ill,,  or  deem  it  unkind  —  " 

"Go  on,  dearest;  nothing  that  comes  from  your  lips  can 
possibly  seem  unkind;  go  on." 

"But  I  cannot  go  on,"  she  cried,  and  burst  into  tears  and 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"I  never  thought  —  so  little  forethought  has  selfishness  — 
that  I  was  to  bring  sorrow  and  trouble  under  this  roof.  Go 
back,  and  tell  your  aunt  that  I  hope  she  will  favor  me  with 
five  minutes  of  her  company;  that  I  see  what  I  greatly 
blame  myself  for  not  seeing  before,  how  full  of  sad  memo- 
ries my  presence  here  must  prove.  Go,  darling,  say  this, 
and  bid  me  good-bye  before  you  go." 

"  Oh,  Harry,  do  not  say  this.  I  see  you  are  angry  with 
us.  I  see  you  think  us  all  unkind;  but  it  was  the  sudden- 
ness of  your  coming ;  and  Florence  has  grown  so  nervous 
of  late,  so  disposed  to  give  way  to  all  manner  of  fancies." 

"She  imagines,  in  fact,"  said  he,  haughtily,  "that  I  have 
come  back  to  persecute  her  with  attentions  which  she  has 
already  rejected.     Isn't  that  so?" 

"  No.  I  don't  think  —  I  mean  Florence  could  never 
think  that  when  you  knew  of  her  engagement  —  knew  that 
within  a  few  months  at  furthest  —  " 

"Pardon  me,  if  I  stop  you.  Tell  your  sister  from  me 
that  she  has  nothing  to  apprehend  from  any  pretensions  of 
mine.  I  can  see  that  you  think  me  changed,  Milly;  grown 
very  old  and  very  worn.  Well,  go  back,  and  tell  her  that 
the   inward  change  is  far  greater   than  the   outward  one. 


612  A   RENT  IN  A   CLOUD. 

Mad  Harry  has  become  as  tame  and  quiet  and  common- 
place as  that  gentleman  in  the  morocco  case  yonder;  and 
if  she  will  condescend  to  see  me,  she  may  satisfy  herself 
that  neither  of  us  in  future  need  be  deemed  dangerous  to 
the  other." 

There  was  an  insolent  pride  in  the  manner  of  his  delivery 
of  these  words  that  made  Milly's  cheek  burn  as  she  listened, 
and  all  that  her  aunt  had  often  told  her  of  "  Calvert  inso- 
lence" now  came  fully  to  her  mind. 

"I  will  go  and  speak  to  my  aunt,"  she  said  at  last. 

"Do  so,"  said  he,  carelessly,  as  he  threw  himself  into  a 
chair,  and  took  up  the  book  that  lay  nearest  to  him.  He 
had  not  turned  over  many  pages  —  he  had  read  none  —  when 
Miss  Grainger  entered.  She  was  flushed  and  flurried  in 
manner,  but  tried  to  conceal  it. 

"We  are  giving  you  a  very  strange  welcome,  Colonel  — 
Mr.  Calvert;  but  you  know  us  all  of  old,  and  you  know 
that  dear  Florry  is  so  easily  agitated  and  overcome.  She 
is  better  now,  and  if  you  will  come  upstairs  to  the  little 
drawing-room,  she'll  see  you." 

"I  am  all  gratitude,"  said  he,  with  a  low  bow;  "but  I 
think  it  is  perhaps  better  not  to  inconvenience  her.  A 
visit  of  constraint  would  be,  to  me  at  least,  very  painful. 
I  'd  rather  leave  the  old  memories  of  my  happiness  here 
undashed  by  such  a  shadow.  Go  back,  therefore,  and  say 
that  I  think  I  understand  the  reason  of  her  reserve;  that  I 
am  sincerely  grateful  for  the  thoughtful  kindness  she  has 
been  minded  to  observe  towards  me.  You  need  not  add," 
said  he  with  a  faint  smile,  "that  the  consideration  in  the 
present  case  was  unnecessary.  I  am  not  so  impressionable 
as  I  used  to  be;  but  assure  her  that  I  am  very  sorry  for  it, 
and  that  Colonel  Calvert,  with  all  his  successes,  is  not  half 
so  happy  a  fellow  as  Mad  Harry  used  to  be  without  a 
guinea." 

"  But  you  '11  not  leave  us?     You  '11  stay  here  to-night?  " 

"Pray  excuse  me.  One  of  my  objects  —  my  chief  one  — 
in  coming  over  here,  was  to  ask  your  nieces'  acceptance  of 
some  trinkets  I  had  brought  for  them.  Perhaps  this  would 
not  be  a  happy  moment  to  ask  a  favor  at  their  hands,  so 
pray  keep  them  over  and  make  birthday  presents  of  them  in 


THE  RETURN.  613 

my  name.  This  is  for  Florence,  —  this,  I  hope  Milly  will 
not  refuse." 

''But  do  not  go.  I  entreat  you  not  to  go.  I  feel  so  cer- 
tain that  if  you  stay  we  shall  all  be  so  happy  together. 
There  is  so  much,  besides,  to  talk  over;  and  as  to  those 
beautiful  things,  for  I  know  they  must  be  beautiful  —  " 

"They  are  curious  in  their  way,"  said  he,  carelessly 
opening  the  clasp  of  one  of  the  cases,  and  displaying  before 
her  amazed  eyes  a  necklace  of  pearls  and  brilliants  that  a 
queen  might  wear. 

"Oh,  Colonel  Calvert,  it  would  be  impossible  for  my 
niece  to  accept  such  a  costly  gift  as  this.  I  never  beheld 
anything  so  splendid  in  my  life." 

"These  ear-drops,"  he  continued,  "are  considered  fine. 
They  were  said  to  belong  to  one  of  the  wives  of  the  King 
of  Delhi,  and  were  reputed  the  largest  pearls  in  India." 

"  The  girls  must  see  them ;  though  I  protest  and  declare 
beforehand,  nothing  on  earth  should  induce  us  to  accept 
them." 

"Let  them  look  well  at  them,  then,"  said  he,  "for  when 
you  place  them  in  my  hands  again,  none  shall  ever  behold 
them  after." 

"What  do  you  mean?  '' 

"I  mean  that  I  '11  throw  them  into  the  lake  yonder.  A 
rejected  gift  is  too  odious  a  memory  to  be  clogged  with." 

"You  could  n't  be  guilty  of  such  rash  folly?  " 

"Don't  you  know  well  that  I  could?  Is  it  to-day  or  yes- 
terday that  the  Calvert  nature  is  known  to  you?  If  you 
wish  me  to  swear  it,  I  will  do  so;  and,  what  is  more,  I  will 
make  you  stand  by  and  see  the  water  close  over  them." 

"Oh,  you  are  not  changed,  —  not  in  the  least  changed," 
she  cried,   in  a  voice  of  real  emotion. 

"Only  in  some  things,  perhaps,"  said  he,  carelessly. 
"By  the  way,  this  is  a  miniature  of  me,  — was  taken  in 
India.  It  is  a  locket  on  this  side.  Ask  Milly  to  wear  it 
occasionally  for  my  sake." 

"How  like!  and  what  a  splendid  costume!  " 

"That  was  my  dress  in  full  state;  but  I  prefer  my  service 
uniform,  and  think  it  became  me  better." 

"Nothing  could  become  you  better  than  this,"  said  she, 


614  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

admiringly;  and  truly  there  was  good  warrant  for  the 
admiration;  "but  even  this  is  covered  with  diamonds!  " 

"Only  a  circlet  and  my  initials.  It  is  of  small  value. 
These  are  the  bawbles.  Do  what  you  will  with  them;  and 
now  good-bye.  Tanti  saluti,  as  we  used  to  say  long  ago 
to  the  ladies,  —  Tanti  salutt  de  la  parte  mia.  Tell  Milly 
she  is  very  naughty  not  to  have  given  me  her  hand  to  kiss 
before  we  parted ;  but  if  she  will  condescend  to  wear  this 
locket  now  and  then,  1  '11  forgive  her.     Good-bye." 

And  before  Miss  Grainger  could  reply,  he  had  opened  the 
window  and  was  gone. 

When  Calvert  reached  the  jetty  the  boatman  was  not 
there;  but  the  boat,  with  her  oars,  lay  close  to  the  steps; 
the  chain  that  attached  her  to  an  iron  ring  was,  however, 
padlocked,  and  Calvert  turned  impatiently  back  to  seek  the 
man.  After  he  had  gone,  however,  a  few  paces,  he  seemed 
to  change  his  mind,  and  turned  once  more  towards  the  lake. 
Taking  up  a  heavy  stone,  he  proceeded  to  smash  the  lock 
on  the  chain.  It  was  stronger  than  he  looked  for,  and 
occupied  some  minutes;  but  he  succeeded  at  last.  Just  as 
he  threw  into  the  boat  the  loose  end  of  the  broken  chain, 
he  heard  steps  behind  him;  he  turned:  it  was  Milly,  run- 
ning towards  him  at  full  speed.  "Oh,  Harry,  dear  Harry!  " 
she  cried,  "don't  go;  don't  leave  us;  Florence  is  quite  well 
again,  and  as  far  as  strength  will  let  her,  trying  to  come 
and  meet  you.  See,  yonder  she  is,  leaning  on  aunt's  arm." 
True  enough,  at  some  hundred  yards  off,  the  young  girl  was 
seen  slowly  dragging  her  limbs  forward  in  the  direction 
where  they  stood. 

"I  have  come  some  thousand  leagues  to  see  her"  said 
he,  sternly,  "through  greater  fatigues,  and,  perhaps,  as 
many  perils  as  she  is  encountering." 

"Go  to  her;  go  towards  her,"  cried  Milly,  reproachfully. 

"Not  one  step;  not  the  breadth  of  a  hair,  Milly,"  said 
he.  "There  is  a  limit  to  the  indignity  a  woman  may  put 
upon  a  man,  and  your  sister  has  passed  it.  If  she  likes  to 
come  and  say  farewell  to  me  here,  be  it  so ;  if  not,  I  must 
go  without  it." 

"Then  I  can  tell  you  one  thing,  Colonel  Calvert,  if  my 
s^ister  Florence   only  knew   of   the   words  you   have   just 


THE   RETURN.  615 

spoken,  she  'd  not  move  one  other  step  towards  you  if, 
if  —  " 

*'If  it  were  to  save  my  life,  you  would  say.  That  is  not 
so  unreasonable,"  said  he,  with  a  saucy  laugh. 

*'Here  is  Florence  come,  weak  and  tottering  as  she  is,  to 
ask  you  to  stay  with  us.  You  '11  not  have  the  heart  to  say 
'No'  to  her,"  said  Miss  Grainger. 

"  I  don't  think  we  —  any  of  us  —  know  much  about  Mr. 
Calvert's  heart,  or  what  it  would  prompt  him  to  do,"  said 
Milly,  half  indignantly,  as  she  turned  away.  And  fortunate 
it  was  she  did  turn  away,  since,  had  she  met  the  fierce  look 
of  Calvert's  eyes  at  the  moment,  it  would  have  chilled  her 
very  blood  with  fear. 

"But  you'll  not  refuse  me,"  said  Florence,  laying  her 
hand  on  his  arm.  "You  know  well  how  seldom  I  ask 
favors,  and  how  unused  I  am  to  be  denied  when  I  do 
ask." 

"  I  was  always  your  slave,  — I  ask  nothing  better  than  to 
be  so  still,"  he  whispered  in  her  ear. 

"  And  you  will  stay  ?  " 

"Yes,  till  you  bid  me  go,"  he  whispered  again.  "But 
remember,  too,  that  when  I  ask  a  favor  I  can  just  as  little 
brook  refusal." 

"We'll  talk  of  that  another  time.  Give  me  your  arm 
now,  and  help  me  back  to  the  house,  for  I  feel  very  weak 
and  faint.  Is  Milly  angry  with  you?"  she  asked,  as  they 
walked  along,  side  by  side. 

"  I  don't  know ;  perhaps  so,"  said  he,  carelessly. 

"  You  used  to  be  such  good  friends.  I  hope  you  have 
not  fallen  out?" 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  he,  in  his  former  easy  tone ;  "or  that 
if  we  have,  we  may  make  it  up  again.  Bear  in  mind,  Flor- 
ence," added  he,  with  more  gravity  of  manner,  "  that  I  am  a 
good  deal  changed  from  what  you  knew  me.  I  have  less 
pride,  cherish  fewer  resentments,  scarcely  any  hopes,  and 
no  affections, — I  mean,  strong  affections.  The  heart  you 
refused  is  now  cold ;  the  only  sentiment  left  me,  is  a  sense 
of  gratitude.  I  can  be  very  grateful;  I  am  already  so." 
She  made  no  answer  to  this  speech,  and  they  re-entered 
the  house  in  silence. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

A    LETTER     OF    CONFESSIONS. 

The  following  letter  from  Calvert  to  Drayton  was  written 
about  three  weeks  after  the  event  of  our  last  chapter :  — 

The  Villa. 

My  dear  Algernon,  —  I  knew  my  black  fellow  would  run  you 
to  earth,  though  he  had  not  a  word  of  English  in  his  vocabulary,  nor 
any  clew  to  you  except  your  name  and  a  map  of  England.  It  must 
have,  however,  been  his  near  kinsman  —  the  other  "  black  gentle- 
man"—  suggested  Scarborough  to  him;  and,  to  this  hour,  I  cannot 
conceive  how  he  found  you.  I  am  overjoyed  to  hear  that  you  could 
muster  enough  Hindostanee  to  talk  with  him,  and  hear  some  of  those 
adventures  which  my  natural  modesty  might  have  scrupled  to  tell 
you.  It  would  seem  from  your  note  that  he  has  been  candor  itself, 
and  confessed  much  that  a  man  of  a  paler  and  thinner  skin  might 
prefer  to  have  shrouded  or  evaded.  All  true,  D. ;  we  have  done  our 
brigandage  on  a  grand  scale,  and  divided  our  prize-money  without  the 
aid  of  a  prize-court.  Keep  those  trinkets  with  an  easy  conscience,  and 
if  they  leave  your  own  hands  for  any  less  worthy  still,  remember  the 
adage,  "  III  got,  ill  gone,"  and  be  comforted.  I  suppose  you  are  right 
—  you  are  generally  right  on  a  question  of  worldly  craft  and  pru- 
dence —  it  is  better  not  to  attempt  the  sale  of  the  larger  gems  in 
England.  St.  Petersburg  and  Vienna  are  as  good  markets,  and 
safer. 

El.  J.  has  already  told  you  of  our  escape  into  Cashmere :  make 
him  narrate  the  capture  of  Mansergh,  and  how  he  found  the  Keyser- 
bagh  necklace  under  his  saddle.  A  Queen's  officer  looting !  Only 
think  of  the  enormity  !  Did  it  not  justify  those  proceedings  in  which 
instinct  anticipated  the  finding  of  a  court-martial  ?  The  East,  and 
its  adventures  — a  very  bulky  roll,  I  assure  you  —  must  wait  till  we 
meet;  and  in  my  next  I  shall  say  where,  and  how,  and  when  :  for 
there  is  much  that  I  shall  tell  that  I  could  not  write  even  to  you, 
Algernon.     Respect  my  delicacy,  and  be  patient. 

I  know  you  are  impatient  to  hear  why  I  am  not  nearer  England, 


A  LETTER  OF  CONFESSIONS.  617 

even  at  Paris,  —  and  I  am  just  as  impatient  to  tell  you.     The 

address  of  this  will  show  you  where  I  am.  All  the  writing  in  the 
world  could  not  tell  you  why.  No,  Drayton ;  I  lie  awake  at  night, 
questioning,  questioning,  and  in  vain.  I  have  gone  to  the  nicest 
anatomy  of  my  motives,  dissecting  fibre  by  fibre,  and  may  I  be  —  a 
Queen's  officer  —  if  I  can  hit  upon  an  explanation  of  the  mystery. 
The  nearest  I  can  come  is,  that  1  feel  the  place  dangerous  to  me,  and, 
therefore,  I  cling  to  it.  I  know  well  the  feeling  that  would  draw  a 
man  back  to  the  spot  where  he  had  committed  a  great  crime.  Blood 
is  a  very  glutinous  fluid,  and  has  most  cohesive  properties ;  but  here, 
in  this  place,  I  have  done  no  enormities,  and  why  1  hug  this  coast, 
except  that  it  be  a  lee-shore,  where  shipwreck  is  very  possible,  I 
really  cannot  make  out.  Not  a  bit  in  love?  No,  Algy.  It  is  not 
easy  for  a  man  like  me  to  fall  m  love.  Love  demands  a  variety  of 
qualities,  which  have  long  left  me,  if  I  ever  had  them.  I  have  little 
trustfulness,  no  credulity;  1  very  seldom  look  back,  never  look  for- 
ward ;  1  neither  believe  in  another,  nor  ask  belief  in  myself.  I  have 
seen  too  much  of  life  to  be  a  dreamer,  —  reality  with  me  denies  all 
place  to  mere  romance.  Last  of  all,  I  cannot  argue  from  the  exist- 
ence of  certain  qualities  in  a  woman  to  the  certainty  of  her  possess- 
ing fifty  others  that  I  wish  her  to  have.  I  only  believe  what  I  see, 
and  my  moral  eyes  are  affected  with  cataract ;  and  yet,  with  all  this, 
there  's  a  girl  here  —  the  same,  ay,  the  same,  I  told  you  of  long  ago 
—  that  I  'd  rather  marry  than  I  'd  be  King  of  Agra,  with  a  British 
governor-general  for  my  water-carrier !  The  most  maddening  of  all 
jealousy  is  for  a  woman  that  one  is  not  in  love  with !  I  am  not  mad, 
most  noble  Drayton,  though  I  am  occasionally  as  near  it  as  is  safe 
for  the  surrounders.  With  the  same  determination  that  this  girl 
says  she  '11  not  have  me,  have  I  sworn  to  myself  she  shall  be  mine. 
It  is  a  fair  open  game,  and  I  leave  you,  who  love  a  wager,  to  name 
the  winner.  I  have  seen  many  prettier  women,  —  scores  of  cleverer 
ones.  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  in  the  matter  of  those  social  captiva- 
tions  into  which  manner  enters,  she  has  any  especial  gifts.  She  is 
not  a  horsewoman,  in  the  real  sense  of  the  word,  which,  once  on  a 
time,  was  a  sine  qud  non  of  mine ;  nor,  in  fact,  has  she  a  peculiar 
excellence  in  anything ;  and  yet  she  gives  you  the  impression  of  being 
able  to  be  anything  she  likes.  She  has  great  quickness  and  great 
adaptiveness,  but  she  possesses  one  trait  of  attraction  above  all :  she 
utterly  rejects  me,  and  sets  all  my  arts  at  defiance.  I  saw,  very  soon 
after  I  came  back  here,  that  she  was  prepared  for  a  regular  siege, 
and  expected  a  fierce  love-suit  on  my  part.  I  accordingly  spiked  my 
heavy  artillery,  and  assumed  an  attitude  of  peace-like  indolence.  I 
lounged  about,  chiefly  alone ,  neither  avoided  nor  sought  her,  and,  if 
I  did  nothing  more,  I  sorely  puzzled  her  as  to  what  I  could  mean  by 
my  conduct.     This  was  so  far  a  success  that  it  excited  her  interest, 


618  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

and  I  saw  that  she  watched  and  was  studying  me.  She  even  made 
faint  attempts  at  little  confidences :  "  Saw  I  was  unhappy,  —  had 
something  on  my  mind;"  and,  for  the  matter  of  that,  I  had  plenty, 
—  plenty  on  my  conscience,  too,  if  nature  had  been  cruel  enough  to 
have  inflicted  me  with  one.  I,  of  course,  said  "  No  "  to  all  these 
insinuations.  1  was  not  happy  nor  unhappy.  If  I  sat  at  the  table 
of  life,  and  did  not  eat,  it  was  because  I  had  no  great  appetite. ' 
The  entertainment  did  not  amuse  me  much,  but  I  had  nowhere  par- 
ticularly to  go  to.  She  went  one  day  so  far  as  to  hint  whether  I  was 
not  crossed  in  love?  But  I  assured  her  not,  and  I  saw  her  grow  very 
pale  as  I  said  it.  I  even  suggested  that,  though  one  might  have  two 
attacks  of  the  malady,  like  the  measles,  the  second  one  was  always 
mild,  and  never  hurt  the  constitution.  Having  thus  piqued  her  a 
little  about  myself,  I  gradually  unsettled  her  opinion  on  other  things, 
frightened  her  by  how  the  geologists  contradict  Genesis,  and  gave 
her  to  choose  between  Monsieur  Cuvier  and  Moses.  As  for  India,  I 
made  her  believe  that  we  were  all  heartily  ashamed  of  what  we  were 
doing  there,  spoke  of  the  Hindoo  as  the  model  native,  and  said  that 
if  the  story  of  our  atrocities  were  written,  Europe  would  rise  up  and 
exterminate  us.  Hence  1  had  not  taken  the  C.B.,  nor  the  V.C.,  nor 
any  other  alphabetical  glories.  In  a  word,  Drayton,  I  got  her  into 
that  frame  of  restlessness  and  fever  in  which  all  belief  smacks  of 
foolish  credulity,  and  the  commonest  exercise  of  trust  seems  like  the 
indulgence  of  a  superstition. 

All  this  time  no  mention  of  Loyd,  not  a  hint  of  his  existence. 
Yesterday,  however,  came  a  fellow  here,  a  certain  Mr.  Stockwell, 
with  a  note  of  introduction  from  Loyd,  calling  him,  "  my  intimate 
friend  S.,  whom  you  have  doubtless  heard  of  as  a  most  successful 
photographer.  He  is  going  to  India  with  a  commission  from  the 
Queen,"  etc.  We  had  him  to  dinner,  and  made  him  talk,  as  all  such 
fellows  are  ready  to  talk,  about  themselves  and  the  fine  people  who 
employ  them.  In  the  evening  we  had  his  portfolio  and  the  peerage, 
and  so  delighted  was  the  vulgar  dog  to  have  got  into  the  land  of 
coronets  and  strawberry-leaves  that  he  would  have  ignored  Loyd  if 
I  had  not  artfully  brought  him  to  his  recollection ;  but  he  came  to  the 
memory  of  "  poor  Joe,"  as  he  called  him,  with  such  a  compassionating 
pity  that  I  actually  grew  to  like  him.  He  had  been  at  the  vicarage, 
too,  and  saw  its  little  homely  ways  and  small  economies ;  and  I 
laughed  so  heartily  at  his  stupid  descriptions  and  vapid  jokes  that  I 
made  the  ass  think  he  was  witty,  and  actually  repeat  them.  All  this 
time  imagine  Florry,  pale  as  a  corpse,  or  scarlet,  either  half  fainting 
or  in  a  fever,  dying  to  burst  in  with  an  angry  indignation,  and  yet 
restrained  by  maiden  bashfulness.  She  could  bear  no  more  by 
eleven  o'clock,  and  went  off  to  bed  under  pretence  of  a  racking 
headache. 


A  LETTER   OF  CONFESSIONS.  619 

It  is  a  great  blow  at  any  man's  favor  in  a  woman's  esteem,  when 
you  show  up  his  particular  friend,  his  near  intimate ;  and,  certes,  I 
did  not  spare  Stockwell.  You  have  seen  me  in  this  part,  and  you 
can  give  me  credit  for  some  powers  in  playing  it. 

"  Could  that  creature  ever  have  been  the  dear  friend  of  Joseph  ?  " 
said  Milly,  as  he  said  good-night. 

"Why  not V"  I  asked.  " They  seem  made  for  each  other.'* 
Florry  was  to  have  come  out  for  a  sail  this  morning  with  me,  but 
she  is  not  well,  —  I  suspect  sulky,  —  and  has  not  appeared.  I  there- 
fore give  you  the  morning  that  I  meant  for  her.  Her  excuses  have 
amazed  me,  because,  after  my  last  night's  success,  and  the  sorry 
figure  I  had  succeeded  in  presenting  L.  to  her,  I  half  hoped  my  own 
chances  might  be  looking  up.  In  fact,  though  I  have  been  playing  a 
waiting  game  so  patiently  to  all  appearance,  I  am  driven  half  mad 
by  self-restraint.  Come  what  may,  1  must  end  this,  —  besides,  to-day 
is  the  fourth :  on  the  tenth  the  steamer  from  Alexandria  will  touch  at 
Malta ;  L.  will  therefore  be  at  Leghorn  by  the  fourteenth,  and  here 
two  days  after,  —  that  .is  to  say,  in  twelve  days  more  my  siege  must 
be  raised.  If  I  were  heavily  ironed  in  a  felon's  cell,  with  the  day  of 
my  execution  fixed,  I  could  not  look  to  the  time  with  one -half  the 
heart-sinking  I  now  feel. 

I  'd  give  —  what  would  I  not  give  ?  —  to  have  you  near  me, 
though  in  my  soul  I  know  all  that  you  'd  say,  —  how  you  'd  preach 
never  minding,  letting  be,  and  the  rest  of  it,  just  as  if  I  could  cut  out 
some  other  work  for  myself  to-morrow,  and  think  no  more  of  her. 
But  I  cannot.  No,  Drayton,  I  cannot.  Is  it  not  too  hard  for  the 
fellow  who  cut  his  way  through  Lahore  with  sixteen  followers,  and 
made  a  lane  through  her  Majesty's  light  cavalry,  to  be  worsted,  de- 
feated, and  disgraced  by  a  young  girl  who  has  neither  rank,  riches, 
nor  any  remarkable  beauty  to  her  share,  but  is  simply  sustained  by 
the  resolve  that  she  '11  not  have  me?  Mind,  D.,  I  have  given  her  no 
opportunity  of  saying  this  since  I  came  last  here ;  on  the  contrary, 
she  would,  if  questioned,  be  ready  —  I  'd  swear  to  it  she  would  —  to 
say,  "  Calvert  paid  me  no  attentions,  nor  made  any  court  to  me." 
She  is  very  truthful  in  everything ;  but  who  is  to  say  that  her  woman's 
instinct  may  not  have  revealed  to  her  of  my  love  ?  Has  not  the 
woman  a  man  loves  always  a  private  key  to  his  heart,  and  doesn't 
she  go  and  tumble  its  contents  about,  just  out  of  curiosity,  ten  times 
a  d  ,y  ?  Xot  that  she  'd  ever  find  a  great  deal  either  in  or  on  mine. 
Neither  the  indictments  for  murder  or  manslaughter,  nor  that  other 
heavier  charge  for  H.  T.,  have  left  their  traces  within  my  pericar- 
dium, and  I  could  stand  to  back  myself  not  to  rave  in  a  compromising 
fashion,  if  I  had  a  fever  to-morrow.  But  how  hollow  all  this  boast- 
ing, when  that  girl  within  the  closed  window-shutter  yonder  defies 
r^e,  —  ay,  defies  me  !     Is  she  to  go  off  to  her  wedding  with  the  inner 


620  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

consciousness  of  this  victory  ?  There 's  the  thought  that  is  driving 
me  mad,  and  will,  I  am  certain,  end  by  producing  some  dire  mischief 
—  what  the  doctors  call  a  lesion  —  in  this  unhappy  brain  of  mine. 
And  now,  as  I  sit  here  in  listless  idleness,  that  other  fellow  is  hasten- 
ing across  Egypt,  or  ploughing  his  way  through  the  Red  Sea,  to 
come  and  marry  her!  I  ask  you,  D.,  what  amount  of  philosophy  is 
required  to  bear  up  under  this  ? 

I  conclude  I  shall  leave  this  some  time  next  week,  —  not  to  come 
near  England,  though,  —  for  I  foresee  that  it  will  soon  be  out,  where, 
how,  and  with  whom  I  have  been  spending  my  holidays.  Fifty 
fellows  must  suspect,  and  some  half-dozen  must  know  all  about  it. 
America,  I  take  it,  must  be  my  ground,  —  as  well  there  as  anywhere 
else;  but  I  can't  endure  a  plan,  so  enough  of  this.  Don't  write  to 
me  till  you  hear  again,  for  I  shall  leave  this  certainly,  though  where 
for,  not  so  certain. 

What  a  deal  of  trouble  and  uncertainty  that  girl  might  spare  me 
if  she  'd  only  consent  to  say  "  Yes."  If  I  see  her  alone  this  evening, 
I  half  think  I  shall  ask  her. 

Farewell  for  a  while,  and  believe  me, 
Yours  ever, 

Harry  C. 

P.  S.  —  Nine  o'clock,  evening.  Came  down  to  dinner  looking 
exceedingly  pretty,  and  dressed  to  perfection.  All  spite  and  malice, 
I  'm  certain.  Asked  me  to  take  her  out  to  sail  to-morrow.  We  are 
to  go  off  on  an  exploring  expedition  to  an  island,  —  que  sais-je  f 

The  old  Grainger  looks  on  me  with  aunt-like  eyes.  She  has 
seen  a  bracelet  of  carbuncles  in  dull  gold,  the  like  of  which  Loyd 
could  not  give  her  were  he  to  sell  justice  for  twenty  years  to  come.  I 
have  hinted  that  I  mean  them  for  my  mother-in-law  whenever  I 
marry,  and  she  understands  that  the  parentage  admits  of  a  represen- 
tative. All  this  is  very  ignoble  on  my  part ;  but  if  I  knew  of  any- 
thing meaner  that  would  insure  me  success,  I  'd  do  it  also. 

What  a  stunning  vendetta  on  this  girl,  if  she  were  at  last  to  con- 
sent, to  find  out  whom  she  had  married,  and  what  I  Think  of  the 
winter  nights'  tales,  of  the  charges  that  hang  over  me,  and  their 
penalties  I  Imagine  the  Hue  and  Cry  as  light  reading  for  the 
honeymoon  1 

He  added  one  line  on  the  envelope,  to  say  he  would  write 
again  on  the  morrow ;  but  his  promise  he  did  not  keep. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A    STORM. 

The  boat  excursion  mentioned  in  Calverf  s  letter  was  not  the 
only  pleasure  project  of  that  day.  It  was  settled  that  Mr. 
Stockwell  should  come  out  and  give  Milly  a  lesson  in  photo- 
graphy, in  which,  under  Loyd's  former  guidance,  she  had 
already  made  some  progress.  He  was  also  to  give  Miss 
Grainger  some  flower-seeds  of  a  very  rare  kind,  of  which  he 
was  carrying  a  store  to  the  Pasha  of  Egypt,  and  which  re- 
quired some  peculiar  skill  in  the  sowing.  They  were  to  dine, 
too,  at  a  little  rustic  house  beside  the  lake ;  and,  in  fact,  the 
day  was  to  be  one  of  festivity  and  enjoyment. 

The  morning  broke  splendidly ;  and  though  a  few  clouds 
lingered  about  the  Alpine  valleys,  the  sky  over  the  lake  was 
cloudless,  and  the  water  was  streaked  and  marbled  with  those 
parti-colored  lines  which  Italian  lakes  wear  in  the  hot  days 
of  midsummer.  It  was  one  of  those  autumnal  mornings  in 
which  the  mellow  coloring  of  the  mature  season  blends  with 
the  soft  air  and  gentle  breath  of  spring,  and  all  the  features 
of  landscape  are  displayed  in  their  fullest  beauty.  Calvert 
and  Florence  were  to  visit  the  Isola  de  San  Giulio,  and  bring 
back  great  clusters  of  the  flowers  of  the  "  San  Giuseppe'* 
trees,  to  deck  the  dinner-table.  They  were  also  to  go  on  as 
far  as  Pella  for  ice  or  snow  to  cool  their  wine,  the  voyage 
being,  as  Calvert  said,  a  blending  of  the  picturesque  with 
the  profitable. 

Before  breakfast  was  over  the  sky  grew  slightly  overcast, 
and  a  large  mass  of  dark  cloud  stood  motionless  over  the 
summit  of  Monterone. 

"'What  will  the  weather  do.  Carlo?"  asked  Calvert  of 
the  old  boatman  of  the  villa,  as  he  came  to  say  that  all  was 
in  readiness. 


622  A  RENT   IN  A  CLOUD. 

''Who  knows,  'cellenza?"  said  he,  with  a  native  shrug 
of  the  shoulders.  "  Monterone  is  a  big  traitor  of  a  moun- 
tain, and  there  's  no  believing  him.  If  that  cloud  scatters, 
the  day  will  be  fine ;  if  the  wind  brings  down  fresh  clouds 
from  the  Alps  it  will  come  on  a  '  burrasca.'  " 

''  Always  a  burrasca;  how  I  am  sick  of  your  burrasca/* 
said  he,  contemptuously.  "If  you  were  only  once  in  your 
life  to  see  a  real  storm,  how  you  'd  despise  those  petty 
jobbles,  in  which  rain  and  sleet  play  the  loudest  part." 

''What  does  he  say  of  the  weather?"  asked  Florence, 
who  saw  that  Calvert  had  walked  on  to  a  little  point  with 
the  old  man,  to  take  a  freer  view  of  the  lake. 

"  He  says  that  if  it  neither  blows  hard  nor  rains,  it  will 
probably  be  fine.  Just  what  he  has  told  us  every  day  since 
I  came  here." 

"  What  about  this  fine  trout  that  you  spoke  of.  Carlo?  " 

"It  is  at  Gozzano,  'cellenza ;  we  can  take  it  as  we  go  by." 

"  But  we  are  going  exactly  in  the  opposite  direction,  my 
worthy  friend ;  we  are  going  to  the  island  and  to  Pella." 

"That  is  different,"  said  the  old  man,  with  another  shrug 
of  the  shoulders. 

"  Did  n't  you  hear  thunder?  I  'm  sure  I  did,"  cried  Miss 
Grainger. 

"  Up  yonder  it 's  always  growling,"  said  Calvert,  pointing 
towards  the  Simplon.  "It  is  the  first  welcome  travellers 
get  when  they  pass  the  summit." 

"Have  you  spoken  to  him,  Milly,  about  Mr.  Stockwell? 
Will  he  take  him  up  at  Orta,  and  land  him  here  ? "  asked 
Miss  Grainger,  in  a  whisper. 

"No,  aunt;  he  hates  Stockwell,  he  says.  Carlo  can  take 
the  blue  boat  and  fetch  him.  They  don't  want  Carlo,  it 
seems." 

"  And  are  you  going  without  a  boatman,  Florry?"  asked 
her  aunt. 

"  Of  course  we  are.  Two  are  quite  cargo  enough  in  that 
small  skiff,  and  I  trust  I  am  as  skilful  a  pilot  as  any 
Ortese  fisherman,"  broke  in  Calvert. 

"Oh,  I  never  disputed  your  skill,  Mr.  Calvert." 

"  What,  then,  do  you  scruple  to  confide  your  niece  to 
me?"    said  he,  with  a  low  whisper,  in  v/hich  the  tone  was 


A  STORM.  623 

more  menace  than  mere  inquiry.  "  Is  this  the  first  time 
we  have  ever  gone  out  in  a  boat  together  ?  " 

She  muttered  some  assurance  of  her  trustfulness,  but  so 
confusedly  and  with  such  embarrassment  as  to  be  scarcely 
intelligible.  *' There!  that  was  certainly  thunder!"  she 
cried. 

"  There  are  not  three  days  in  three  months  in  this  place 
without  thunder.  It  is  the  Italian  privilege,  I  take  it,  to 
make  always  more  noise  than  mischief." 

''But  will  you  go  if  it  threatens  so  much?"  said  Miss 
Grainger. 

"  Ask  Florry.  For  my  part,  I  think  the  day  will  be  a 
glorious  one." 

"  I  'm  certain  it  will,"  said  Florence,  gayly ;  '^  and  I  quite 
agree  with  what  Harry  said  last  night.  Disputing  about 
the  weather  has  the  same  effect  as  firing  great  guns,  —  it 
always  brings  down  the  rain." 

Calvert  smiled  graciously  at  hearing  himself  quoted.  It 
was  the  one  sort  of  flattery  he  liked  the  best,  and  it  rallied 
him  out  of  his  dark  humor.  "  Are  you  ready?  "  —  he  had 
almost  added  "  dearest,"  and  only  caught  himself  in  time,  — 
perhaps,  indeed,  not  completely  in  time,  —  for  she  blushed, 
as  she  said,  "  Eccomi." 

The  sisters  affectionately  embraced  each  other.  Milly 
even  ran  after  Florence  to  kiss  her  once  again,  after  part- 
ing, and  then  Florry  took  Calvert's  arm,  and  hastened  away 
to  the  jetty.  "  I  declare,"  said  she,  as  she  stepped  into 
the  boat,  "  this  leave-taking  habit,  when  one  is  going  out 
to  ride,  or  to  row,  or  to  walk  for  an  hour,  is  about  the 
stupidest  thing  I  know  of." 

"I  always  said  so.  It's  like  making  one's  will  every 
day  before  going  down  to  dinner.  It  is  quite  true  you  may 
chance  to  die  before  the  dessert,  but  the  mere  possibility 
should  not  interfere  with  your  asking  for  soup.  No,  no, 
Florry,  you  are  to  steer ;  the  tiller  is  yours  for  to-day :  my 
post  is  here ;  "  and  he  stretched  himself  at  the  bottom  of 
the  boat,  and  took  out  his  cigar.  The  light  breeze  was  just 
enough  to  move  the  little  lateen  sail,  and  gradually  it  filled 
out,  and  the  skiff  stole  quietly  away  from  shore,  without 
even  a  ripple  on  the  water. 


624  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

"  What's  the  line,  Florry?  '  Hope  at  the  helm,  pleasure 
at  the  prow,*  or  is  it  love  at  the  helm?  " 

"A  bad  steersman,  1  should  say;  far  too  capricious," 
cried  she,  laughing. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  think  he  has  one  wonderful  attribute  : 
he  has  got  wings  to  fly  away  with  whenever  the  boat  is  in 
danger,  and  I  believe  it  is  pretty  much  what  love  does 
always." 

"Can't  say,"  said  she,  carelessly.  "Isn't  that  a  net 
yonder?     Oughtn't  we  to  steer  clear  of  it?" 

"Yes.  Let  her  fall  off — so;  that's  enough.  What  a 
nice  light  hand  you  have." 

"  On  a  horse  they  tell  me  my  hand  is  very  light." 

"  How  I  'd  like  to  see  you  on  my  Arab  *  Said.*  Such  a 
creature !  so  large-eyed,  and  with  such  a  full  nostril,  the 
face  so  concave  in  front,  the  true  Arab  type,  and  the  jaw  a 
complete  semicircle.  How  proud  he  'd  look  under  you,  with 
that  haughty  snort  he  gives,  as  he  bends  his  knee.  He  was 
the  present  of  a  great  Rajah  to  me,  —  one  of  those  native 
fellows  we  are  graciously  pleased  to  call  rebels,  because 
they  don't  fancy  to  be  slaves.  Two  years  ago  he  owned  a 
territory  about  the  size  of  half  Spain,  and  he  is  now  some- 
thing like  a  brigand  chief,  with  a  few  hundred  followers." 

"Dear  Harry,  do  not  talk  of  India, — at  least,  not  of 
the  mutiny." 

"Mutiny!  Why  call  it  mutiny,  Florry?  Well,  love,  I 
have  done,"  he  muttered,  for  the  word  escaped  him,  and  he 
feared  how  she  might  resent  it. 

"  Come  back  to  my  tightness  of  hand." 

"  Or  of  heart,  for  I  sorely  suspect,  Florence,  the  quality 
is  not  merely  a  manual  one." 

"  Am  I  steering  well?  " 

"  Perfectly.  Would  that  I  could  sail  on  and  on  forever 
thus,  — 

"  *  Over  an  ocean  just  like  this, 

A  life  of  such  untroubled  bliss.'  " 

Calvert  threw  in  a  sentimental  glance  with  this  quotation. 
"In  other  words,  an  existence  of  nothing  to  do,'*  said 
she,  laughing,  "  with  an  excellent  cigar  to  beguile  it.** 


A  STORM.  .625 

"  Well,  but  *  ladye  faire/  remember  that  I  have  earned 
some  repose.  I  have  not  been  altogether  a  carpet  knight. 
I  have  had  my  share  of  lance  and  spear,  and  amongst  fel- 
lows who  handle  their  weapons  neatly." 

"  You  are  dying  to  get  back  to  Ghoorkas  and  Sikhs ;  but 
I  won't  have  it.  I'd  rather  hear  Metastasio  or  Petrarch, 
just  now." 

*'  What  if  I  were  to  quote  something  apposite,  though  it 
were  only  prose, —  something  out  of  the  '  Promessi  Sposi  *  ?  " 

She  made  no  answer,  and  turned  away  her  head. 

**  Put  up  your  helm  a  little;  let  the  sails  draw  freely. 
This  is  very  enjoyable ;  it  is  a  right  royal  luxury.  I  'm  not 
sure  Antony  ever  had  his  galley  steered  by  Cleopatra, — 
had  he?" 

**  I  don't  know;  but  I  do  know  that  I  am  not  Cleopatra, 
nor  you  Antony." 

*'  How  readily  you  take  one  up  for  a  foolish  speech!  as 
if  these  rambling  indiscretions  were  not  the  soul  of  such 
converse  as  ours.  They  are  like  the  squalls,  that  only 
serve  to  increase  our  speed  and  never  risk  our  safety ;  and, 
somehow,  I  feel  to-day  as  if  my  temper  was  all  of  that  fitful 
and  capricious  kind.  I  suppose  it  is  the  over-happiness. 
Are  you  happy,  Florry?"  asked  he,  after  a  pause. 

"  If  you  mean,  do  I  enjoy  this  glorious  day  and  our  sail, 
—  yes,  intensely.  Now,  what  am  I  to  do?  The  sail  is  flap- 
ping in  spite  of  me." 

"Because  the  wind  has  chopped  round,  and  is  coming 
from  the  eastward.  Down  your  helm,  and  let  her  find  her 
own  way.  We  have  the  noble  privilege  of  not  caring 
whither.     How  she  spins  through  it  now !  " 

"It  is  immensely  exciting,"  said  she,  and  her  color 
heightened  as  she  spoke. 

"Have  you  superstitions  about  dates?"  he  asked,  after 
another  pause. 

"  No  ;  I  don't  think  so.  My  life  has  been  so  uneventful. 
Few  days  record  anything  memorable.  But  why  did  you 
ask?" 

"I  am  —  I  am  a  devout  believer  in  lucky  and  unlucky 
days ;  and  had  I  only  bethought  me  this  was  a  Friday,  I  'd 
have  put  off  our  sail  till  to-morrow." 

40 


626  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

*'It  is  strange  to  see  a  man  like  you  attach  importance 
to  these  things." 

*' And  yet  it  is  exactly  men  like  me  who  do  so.  Super- 
stitions belong  to  hardy,  stern,  rugged  races,  like  the  North- 
men, even  more  than  the  natives  of  southern  climes.  Too 
haughty  and  too  self-dependent  to  ask  counsel  from  others 
like  themselves,  they  seek  advice  in  the  occult  signs  and 
faint  whispers  of  the  natural  world.  Would  you  believe  it, 
that  I  cast  a  horoscope  last  night  to  know  if  I  should  succeed 
in  the  next  project  I  undertook  ?  " 

"And  what  was  the  answer?" 

"  An  enigma  to  this  purpose :  that  if  what  I  undertook 
corresponded  with  the  entrance  of  Orion  into  the  seventh 
house —     Why  are  you  laughing?  " 

"Is  it  not  too  absurd  to  hear  such  nonsense  from  you?  " 

"Was  it  not  the  grotesque  homage  of  the  witch  made 
Macbeth  a  murderer  ?  What  are  you  doing,  child  ?  Luff  — 
luff  up ;  the  wind  is  freshening." 

"  I  begin  to  think  there  should  be  a  more  skilful  hand  on 
the  tiller.     It  blows  freshly  now." 

"In  three  days  more,  Florence,"  said  he,  gravely,  "  it 
will  be  exactly  two  years  since  we  sailed  here  all  alone. 
Those  two  years  have  been  to  me  like  a  long,  long  life,  so 
much  of  danger  and  trouble  and  suffering  have  been  com- 
passed in  them.  Were  I  to  tell  you  all,  you  'd  own  that 
few  men  could  have  borne  my  burden  without  being  crushed 
by  it.  It  was  not  death  in  any  common  shape  that  I  con- 
fronted. But  I  must  not  speak  of  this.  What  I  would  say 
is,  that  through  all  the  perils  1  passed,  one  image  floated 
before  me,  —  one  voice  was  in  my  ear.     It  was  yours." 

"  Dear  Harry,  let  me  implore  you  not  to  go  back  to  these 
things." 

"I  must,  Florence,  — I  must,"  said  he,  still  more  sadly. 
"  If  I  pain  you,  it  is  only  your  fair  share  of  suffering." 

"  My  fair  share !     And  why?  " 

"For  this  reason.  When  I  knew  you  first,  I  was  a 
worn-out,  weary,  heart-sick  man  of  the  world.  Young  as 
I  was,  I  was  weary  of  it  all;  I  thought  I  had  tasted  of 
whatever  it  had  of  sweet  or  bitter.  I  had  no  wish  to  renew 
my  experiences.     I  felt  there  was  a  road  to  go,  and  I  began 


A  STORM.  627 

my  life-journey  without  iuterest,  or  anxiety,  or  hope.  You 
taught  me  otherwise,  Florence ;  you  revived  the  heart  that 
was  all  but  cold,  and  brought  it  back  to  life  and  energy; 
you  inspired  me  with  high  ambitions  and  noble  desires ;  you 
gave  confidence  where  there  had  been  distrust,  and  hope 
where  there  had  been  indifference." 

"There,  there!"  cried  she,  eagerly;  *' there  comes 
another  squall.  You  must  take  the  helm;  I  am  getting 
frightened." 

"  You  are  calmer  than  I  am,  Florence  dearest.  Hear 
me  out.  Why,  I  ask  you — why  call  me  back  to  an  exis- 
tence which  you  intended  to  make  valueless  to  me?  Why 
ask  me  to  go  a  road  where  you  refuse  to  journey  ?  " 

**  Do  come  here!  I  know  not  what  I  am  doing.  And 
see,  it  grows  darker  and  darker  over  yonder !  " 

"  You  steered  me  into  stormier  waters,  and  had  few 
compunctions  for  it.  Hear  me  out,  Florence.  For  you  I 
came  back  to  a  life  that  I  ceased  to  care  for;  for  you  I 
took  on  me  cares,  and  dangers,  and  crosses,  and  conquered 
them  all ;  for  you  I  won  honors,  high  rewards,  and  riches, 
and  now  I  come  to  lay  them  at  your  feet,  and  say,  '  Weigh 
all  these  against  the  proofs  of  that  other  man's  affection. 
Put  into  one  scale  these  successes,  —  won  alone  for  you,  — 
these  trials,  these  wounds,  —  and  into  the  other  some 
humdrum  letters  of  that  good-enough  creature,  who  is  no 
more  worthy  of  you  than  he  has  the  courage  to  declare  it.' " 

As  he  spoke,  a  clap  of  thunder,  sharp  as  a  cannon-shot, 
broke  above  their  heads,  and  a  squall  struck  the  boat  aloft, 
bending  her  over  till  she  half  filled  with  water,  throwing  at 
the  same  time  the  young  girl  from  her  place  to  the  lee-side 
of  the  boat. 

Lifting  her  up,  Calvert  placed  her  on  the  seat,  while 
he  supported  her  with  one  arm,  and  with  the  other  hand 
grasped  the  tiller. 

*'  Is  there  danger?"  whispered  she,  faintly. 

*'No,  dearest,  none.  I'll  bale  out  the  water  when  the 
wind  lulls  a  little.     Sit  close  up  here,  and  all  will  be  well." 

The  boat,  however,  deeply  laden,  no  longer  rose  over 
the  waves,  but  dipped  her  bow,  and  took  in  more  water 
at  every  plunge. 


628  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD. 

**  Tell  me  this  hand  is  mine,  my  own  dearest  Florence,  — 
mine  forever,  and  see  how  it  will  nerve  my  arm.  I  am 
powerless  if  I  am  hopeless.  Tell  me  that  I  have  something 
to  live  for,  and  I  live." 

''  Oh,  Harry,  is  it  when  my  heart  is  dying  with  fear  that 
you  ask  me  this?  Is  it  generous,  —  is  it  fair?  There!  the 
sail  IS  gone !  the  ropes  are  torn  across." 

"It  is  only  the  jib,  darling,  and  we  shall  be  better  with- 
out it.  Speak,  Florence !  say  it  is  my  own  wife  I  am  sav- 
ing, —  not  the  bride  of  that  man,  who,  if  he  were  here, 
would  be  at  your  feet  in  craven  terror  this  instant." 

' '  There  goes  the  mast !  " 

At  the  word  the  spar  snapped  close  to  the  thwart  and  fell 
over  the  side,  carrying  the  sail  with  it.  The  boat  now  lay 
with  one  gunwale  completely  under  water,  helpless  and 
water-logged.  A  wild  shriek  burst  from  the  girl,  who 
thought  all  was  lost. 

''Courage,  dearest,  —  courage!  she'll  float  still.  Hold 
close  to  me  and  fear  nothing.  It  is  not  Loyd's  arm  that 
you  have  to  trust  to,  but  that  of  one  who  never  knew 
terror !  " 

The  waves  surged  up  now  with  every  heaving  of  the 
boat,  so  as  to  reach  their  breasts,  and,  sometimes  striking 
on  the  weather-side,  broke  in  great  sheets  of  water  over 
them. 

"  Oh,  can  you  save  us,  Harry,  —  can  you  save  us?  "  cried 
she. 

"Yes,  if  there's  aught  worth  saving,"  said  he,  sternly. 
"It  is  not  safety  that  I  am  thinking  of,  it  is  what  is  to 
come  after.     Have  I  your  promise?     Are  you  mine?" 

"  Oh  !  do  not  ask  me  this  ;  have  pity  on  me." 

"  Where  is  your  pity  for  me?  Be  quick,  or  it  will  be  too 
late.     Answer  me,  —  mine,  or  his? " 

"His  to  the  last!  "cried  she,  with  a  wild  shriek;  and, 
clasping  both  her  hands  above  her  head,  she  would  have 
fallen,  had  he  not  held  her. 

"  One  chance  more.  Refuse  me,  and  I  leave  you  to  your 
fate !  "  cried  he,  sternly. 

She  could  not  speak,  but  in  the  agony  of  her  terror  she 
threw  her  arms  around  and  clasped  him  wildly.     The  dark, 


A  STORM.  629 

dense  cloud  that  rested  on  the  lake  was  rent  asunder  by  a 
flash  of  lightning  at  the  instant,  and  a  sound  like  a  thousand 
great  guns  shook  the  air.  The  wind,  skimming  the  sea, 
carried  sheets  of  water  along,  and  almost  submerged  the 
boat  as  they  passed. 

''  Yes,  or  no  !  "  shouted  Calvert,  madly,  as  he  struggled  to 
disengage  himself  from  her  grasp. 

''  No !  "  she  cried,  with  a  wild  yell  that  rung  above  all  the 
din  of  the  storm ;  and  as  she  said  it  he  threw  her  arms  wide 
and  flung  her  from  him.  Then,  tearing  off  his  coat,  plunged 
into  the  lake. 

The  thick  clouds,  as  they  rolled  down  from  the  Alps  to 
meet  the  wind,  settled  over  the  lake,  making  a  blackness 
almost  like  night,  and  only  broken  by  the  white  flashes  of 
the  lightning.  The  thunder  rolled  out  as  it  alone  does  in 
these  mountain  regions,  where  the  echoes  keep  on  repeating 
till  they  fill  the  very  air  with  their  deafening  clamor.  Scarcely 
was  Calvert  a  few  yards  from  the  boat  than  he  turned  to 
swim  back  to  her,  but  already  was  she  hid  from  his  view. 
The  waves  ran  high,  and  the  drift  foam  blinded  him  at 
every  instant.  He  shouted  out  at  the  top  of  his  voice ;  he 
screamed  "Florence  !  Florence ! "  but  the  din  around  drowned 
his  weak  efforts,  and  he  could  not  even  hear  his  own  words. 
With  his  brain  mad  by  excitement,  he  fancied  every  in- 
stant that  he  heard  his  name  called,  and  turned,  now  hither, 
now  thither,  in  wild  confusion.  Meanwhile,  the  storm  deep- 
ened, and  the  wind  smote  the  sea  with  frequent  claps,  sharp 
and  sudden  as  the  rush  of  steam  from  some  great  steam- 
pipe.  Whether  his  head  reeled  with  the  terrible  uproar 
around,  or  that  his  mind  gave  way  between  agony  and 
doubt,  who  can  tell  ?  He  swam  madly  on  and  on,  breasting 
the  waves  with  his  strong  chest,  and  lost  to  almost  all  con- 
sciousness, save  of  the  muscular  effort  he  was  making : 
none  saw  him  more ! 

The  evening  was  approaching,  the  storm  had  subsided, 
and  the  tall  Alps  shone  out  in  all  the  varied  colors  of  rock, 
or  herbage,  or  snow-peak;  and  the  blue  lake  at  the  foot, 
in  its  waveless  surface,  repeated  all  their  grand  outlines  and 
all  their  glorious  tints.     The  water  was  covered  with  row- 


630  A  RENT  IN  A  CLOUD 

boats  in  every  direction,  sent  out  to  seek  for  Florence  and 
her  companion.  They  were  soon  perceived  to  cluster  round 
one  spot,  where  a  dismasted  boat  lay  half-filled  with  water, 
and  a  figure,  as  of  a  girl  sleeping,  lay  in  the  stern,  her  head 
resting  on  the  gunwale.  It  was  Florence,  still  breathing, 
still  living,  but  terror-stricken,  lost  to  all  consciousness,  her 
limbs  stiffened  with  cold.  She  was  lifted  into  a  boat  and 
carried  on  shore. 

Happier  for  her  the  long  death-like  sleep  —  that  lasted  for 
days  —  than  the  first  vague  dawn  of  consciousness,  when 
her  senses,  returning,  brought  up  the  terrible  memory  of 
the  storm,  and  the  last  scene  with  Calvert.  With  a  heart- 
rending cry  for  mercy  she  would  start  up  in  bed,  and, 
before  her  cry  had  well  subsided,  would  come  the  con- 
sciousness that  the  peril  was  past ;  and  then,  with  a  mourn- 
ful sigh,  would  she  sink  back  again  to  try  and  regain 
suflScient  self-control  to  betray  nothing  —  not  even  of  him 
who  had  deserted  her. 

Week  after  week  rolled  by,  and  she  made  but  slow  pro- 
gress towards  recovery.  There  was  not,  it  is  true,  what 
the  doctors  could  pronounce  to  be  malady,  —  her  height- 
ened pulse  alone  was  feverish,  —  but  a  great  shock  had 
shaken  her,  and  its  effects  remained  in  an  utter  apathy  and 
indifference  to  everything  around  her. 

She  wished  to  be  alone,  —  to  be  left  in  complete  solitude, 
and  the  room  darkened.  The  merest  stir  or  movement  in 
the  house  jarred  on  her  nerves  and  irritated  her,  and  with 
this  came  back  paroxysms  of  excitement  that  recalled  the 
storm  and  the  wreck.  Sad,  therefore,  and  sorrowful  to 
see  as  were  the  long  hours  of  her  dreary  apathy,  they  were 
less  painful  than  these  intervals  of  acute  sensibility ;  and 
between  the  two  her  mind  vibrated. 

One  evening,  about  a  month  after  the  wreck,  Milly  came 
down  to  her  aunt's  room  to  say  that  she  had  bean  speaking 
about  Joseph  to  Florry.  '*  I  was  telling  her  how  he  was 
-detained  at  Calcutta,  and  could  not  be  here  before  the  sec- 
ond mail  from  India ;  and  her  reply  was,  '  It  is  quite  as 
well.     He  will  be  less  shocked  when  he  sees  me.'  '* 

"  Has  she  never  asked  about  Calvert?  "  asked  the  old  lady. 

''Never.  Not  once.  I  half  suspect,  however,  that  she 
overheard  us  that  evening  when  we  were  talking  of  him,  and 


A  STORM.  631 

wondering  that  he  had  never  been  seen  again.  For  she 
said  afterwards,  '  Do  not  say  before  me  what  you  desire 
me  not  to  hear,  for  I  hear  frequently  when  I  am  unable 
to  speak,  or  even  make  a  sign  in  reply.*" 

"  But  it  is  strange  that  nothing  should  ever  be  known  of 
him," 

''  No,  aunt.  Carlo  says  several  have  been  drowned  in 
this  lake  whose  bodies  have  never  been  found.  He  has  some 
sort  of  explanation,  about  deep  currents  that  set  in  amongst 
the  rocks  at  the  bottom,  which  I  could  not  understand." 

The  days  dragged  on  as  before.  Miss  Grainger,  after 
some  struggles  about  how  to  accomplish  the  task,  took  cour- 
age, and  wrote  to  Miss  Sophia  Calvert  to  inform  her  of  the 
disastrous  event  which  had  occurred,  and  the  loss  of  her 
cousin.  The  letter  was,  however,  left  without  any  acknowl- 
edgment whatever,  and  save  in  some  chance  whisperings 
between  Milly  and  her  aunt,  the  name  of  Calvert  was  never 
spoken  of  again. 

Only  a  few  days  before  Christmas  a  telegram  told  them 
that  Loyd  had  reached  Trieste,  and  would  be  with  them  in 
a  few  days.  By  this  time  Florence  had  recovered  much  of 
her  strength  and  some  of  her  looks.  She  was  glad,  very 
glad  to  hear  that  Joseph  was  coming ;  but  her  joy  was  not 
excessive.  Her  whole  nature  seemed  to  have  been  toned 
down  by  that  terrible  incident  to  a  state  of  calm  resigna- 
tion to  accept  whatever  came,  with  little  of  joy  or  sorrow ; 
to  submit  to,  rather  than  partake  of,  the  changeful  fortunes 
of  life.  It  was  thus  Lloyd  found  her  when  he  came,  and, 
to  his  thinking,  she  was  more  charming,  more  lovable  than 
ever.  The  sudden  caprices,  which  so  often  had  worried 
him,  were  gone,  and  in  their  place  there  was  a  gentle  tran- 
quillity of  character  which  suited  every  trait  of  his  own 
nature,  and  rendered  her  more  than  ever  companionable  to 
him.  Warned  by  her  ^unt  and  sister  to  avoid  the  topic 
of  the  storm,  he  never  alluded  to  it  in  any  shape  to  Flor- 
ence ;  but  one  evening,  as,  after  a  long  walk  together,  sher 
lay  down  to  rest  before  tea-time,  he  took  Milly's  arm  and 
led  her  into  the  garden. 

"  She  has  told  me  all,  Milly,"  said  he,  with  some  emo- 
tion, —  ''at  least,  all  that  she  can  remember  of  that  terrible 
day." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE   LAST   AND   THE    SHORTEST. 

LoYD  was  married  to  Florence ;  and  they  went  to  India,  and 
in  due  time  —  even  earlier  than  due  time  —  he  was  promoted 
from  rank  to  rank  till  he  reached  the  dignity  of  chief  judge  of 
a  district, —  a  position  which  he  filled  with  dignity  and  credit. 

Few  were  more  prosperous  in  all  the  relations  of  their 
lives.  They  were  fortunate  in  almost  everything,  even  to 
their  residence  near  Simlah,  on  the  slope  of  the  Himalaya; 
they  seemed  to  have  all  the  goods  of  fortune  at  their  feet. 
In  India,  where  hospitality  is  less  a  virtue  than  a  custom, 
Loyd's  house  was  much  frequented ;  his  own  agreeable  man- 
ners and  the  charming  qualities  of  his  wife  had  given  them 
a  widespread  notoriety,  and  few  journeyed  through  their 
district  without  seeking  their  acquaintance. 

"You  don't  know  who  is  coming  here  to  dinner,  to-day, 
Florry,"  said  Loyd,  one  morning  at  breakfast;  "some  one 
you  will  be  glad  to  see,  even  for  a  memory  of  Europe,  — 
Stockwell." 

"  Stockwell?     I  don't  remember  Stockwell.'* 

"Not  remember  him?  And  he  so  full  of  the  charming 
reception  you  gave  him  at  Orta,  where  he  photographed  the 
villa,  and  you  and  Milly  in  the  porch,  and  Aunt  Grainger 
washing  her  poodle  in  the  flower-garden  ?  " 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure  I  do;  but  he  would  never  let  us  have  a 
copy  of  it,  he  was  so  afraid  Aunt  Grainger  would  take  it 
ill;  and  then  he  went  away  very  suddenly, — if  I  mistake 
not,  he  was  called  off  by  telegram  on  the  very  day  he  was 
to  dine  with  us." 

"  Perhaps  he  '11  have  less  compunctions  now  that  your 
aunt  is  so  unlikely  to  see  herself  so  immortalized.  I  'm  to 
go  over  to  Behasana  to  fetch  him,  and  I  '11  ask  if  he  has  a 
copy." 


THE  LAST  AND  THE  SHORTEST.  683 

His  day's  duties  over,  Loyd  went  across  to  the  camp 
where  his  friend  Stockwell  was  staying.  He  brought  him 
back,  and  the  photographs  were  soon  produced. 

"My  wife,"  said  Loyd,  "wishes  to  see  some  of  her  old 
Italian  scenes.     Have  you  any  of  those  you  took  in  Italy  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  have  some  half-dozen  yonder.  There  they  are, 
with  their  names  on  the  back  of  them.  This  was  the  little 
inn  you  recommended  me  to  stop  at,  with  the  vine  terrace 
at  the  back  of  it.  Here,  you  see  the  clump  of  cypress- 
trees  next  the  boat-house." 

"Ay,  but  she  wants  a  little  domestic  scene  at  the  villa, 
with  her  aunt  making  the  morning  toilet  of  her  poodle. 
Have  you  got  that?" 

"To  be  sure  I  have;  and  —  not  exactly  as  a  pendant  to 
it,  for  it  is  terrific  rather  than  droll  —  I  have  got  a  storm- 
scene  that  I  took  the  morning  I  came  away.  The  horses 
were  just  being  harnessed,  for  I  received  a  telegram  inform- 
ing me  I  must  be  at  Ancona  two  days  earlier  than  I  looked 
for  to  catch  the  Indian  mail,  and  I  was  taking  the  last  view 
before  I  started.  I  was  in  a  tremendous  hurry,  and  the 
whole  thing  is  smudged  and  scarce  distinguishable.  It  was 
the  grandest  storm  I  ever  witnessed.  The  whole  sky  grew 
black,  and  seemed  to  descend  to  meet  the  lake,  as  it  was 
lashed  to  fury  by  the  wind.  I  had  to  get  a  peasant  to  hold 
the  instrument  for  me  as  I  caught  one  effect,  —  merely  one. 
The  moment  was  happy :  it  was  just  when  a  great  glare  of 
lightning  burst  through  the  black  mass  of  cloud,  and  lit  up 
the  centre  of  the  lake,  at  the  very  moment  that  a  dismasted 
boat  was  being  drifted  along  to,  I  suppose,  certain  destruc- 
tion. Here  it  is,  and  here  are,  as  well  as  I  can  make  out, 
two  figures.  They  are  certainly  figures,  biurred  as  they  are, 
and  that  is  clearly  a  woman  clinging  to  a  man  who  is  throw- 
ing her  off :  the  action  is  plainly  that.  I  have  called  it  '  A 
Rent  in  a  Cloud.'" 

"Don't  bring  this  to-day,  Stockwell,"  said  Loyd,  as  the 
cold  sweat  burst  over  his  face  and  forehead;  "and  when 
you  talk  of  Orta  to  my  wife,  say  nothing  of  the  *  Rent  in  a 
Cloud.' " 


THE  END. 


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RECEIVED 

MAR  3 1  *67  -12  Wl 

LOAN  DEPT. 

• 

LD  21-100m-9,'48(B399sl 

6)476 

• 

193061 


m 


